


Family Ties

by Suzie_Shooter



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drunk Sex, False Accusations, Family, M/M, Neighbors, Sexual Content, bookshops, planted evidence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 15:20:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5132444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/pseuds/Suzie_Shooter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU. Porthos is researching his family history and discovers to his surprise that the father he never knew is still alive - but it may not be the happy reunion he's hoping for.</p><p>(This came about as a combination of me wanting to write Athos as a grumpy bookshop owner, and the prompt "they're neighbours and Porthos manages to flood Athos' flat.")</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Porthos wandered down the little back street taking a simple pleasure from the crooked row of shops, and the contrast with the metal and glass chain stores of the main thoroughfares. 

The rooflines were all higgledy-piggledy and several of the establishments had colourful windowboxes. One shop, instead of flowers had a trough of books outside the window and Porthos lingered for a moment, sorting through the cheap paperbacks in search of a hidden gem. 

Nothing caught his eye, but on the spur of the moment he decided to go in. He'd been on his way to the library, but realised this might do just as well, without the faff of having to register before he could borrow anything. He'd only been in his new flat a few days, and suspected the council-run library would require about six different forms of ID with his address on.

A bell tinkled overhead as he pushed the door open, and he paused a moment to let his eyes adjust to the gloom. Inside it was pleasingly old-fashioned and cluttered, stacks of books littering the floor between the almost ceiling-high shelves.

Picking his way carefully between them, Porthos let his eyes roam over the titles. He seemed to be in the history section, which was close but not quite what he wanted. 

The smell of fresh coffee was mingling with the comfortingly musty smell of the books, and as he rounded the end of a bookcase it got markedly stronger. Blinking in a shaft of sunlight, Porthos suddenly realised there was a man sitting at an old wooden desk at the end of the aisle. He had a faded khaki jacket on, and blended so well into the background that Porthos had missed him completely when he'd first walked in.

His startled flush of embarrassment faded as he realised the man had his nose deep in a book and was paying him no attention whatsoever.

After a few more minutes fruitless browsing, Porthos plucked up the courage to approach the desk. The man didn't look up until Porthos cleared his throat, and then fixed him with a look of weary boredom.

"Can I help you?"

The voice was cultured and pleasant, although the tone was one of mild irritation.

"Yes, I - ah, I'm researching my family history," Porthos began eagerly. "I was hoping you might be able to help me with some pointers."

The man at the desk frowned at him. "Sorry, indulge me, what does it say on the sign outside again?"

Porthos stared at him, nonplussed and wondering if it was a trick question. He vaguely recalled it had been something French-sounding. His eyes dropped to the desk where a sheaf of compliments slips protruded from under a coffee mug. Green ink and a fleur de lys logo, and yes, the name of the shop.

"La Fère Books?" Porthos hazarded.

"Oh, good. Thank you. I was afraid it might have changed to Citizen's Advice Bureau when I wasn't looking." 

Porthos gave a nervous laugh, but the man didn't appear to be joking. Instead he gave a dismissive wave back down the shop. "Genealogy and heraldry down the end, just before the stairs." He went back to his book and Porthos retreated, feeling flustered and embarrassed and annoyed with himself for it. He hadn't been the rude one, after all.

Behind him a telephone rang, and he heard a muttered, "Oh for fuck's sake," followed by the thump of a book on the desk top. The ringing stopped. "Athos la Fère?"

The rest of the conversation seemed to be about a book order and Porthos stopped eavesdropping, working his way to the back of the shop. A narrow staircase twisted upwards in the corner, with more books stacked dangerously on each step. Porthos wondered if you were allowed to go up or not. It didn't say you couldn't, but then nothing in here seemed to be particularly well labelled.

Examining the shelves closest to the stairs Porthos eventually found the section he was looking for and settled down on the steps to peruse a few. He was pleasantly surprised to find they were fairly reasonably priced, and picked out a couple on how to trace your family, and how to begin drawing up a family tree.

With some trepidation he approached the desk again, plastering on a hopeful smile.

"Hello." Porthos pushed the books across the green leather of the desk top and felt in his back pocket for his wallet. "Just these please." 

"Five pounds."

Porthos blinked. "You haven't even checked," he objected.

Fixing him with a stony gaze, Athos deliberately flipped open the cover of both books. Two pounds and three pounds respectively. He said nothing, but raised an extremely eloquent eyebrow.

"Well. Yeah. I didn't say it was wrong," Porthos stammered, wondering if it had been a lucky guess, or if the man was some kind of savant freak who knew the price of every book in the shop.

He tried smiling again, hoping for a thaw in relations. This would be a nice place to come back and spend a happy hour browsing in.

"Nice shop you've got," Porthos ventured. "I'm new in town, you see. Trying to track down my family. I think my father came from here."

This earned him a mystified look. "I'm sorry," Athos drawled. "What is it about this face that makes you think I'm remotely interested"?

Bristling, Porthos glared at him. "Look, do you want to make a sale or not?" he snapped. He was conscious that five pounds was hardly going to allow the man to shut up shop for the day, but on the other hand if he was this rude to all his customers it was amazing he kept going at all.

Athos looked up at him consideringly. "Which answer will make you go away the quickest?" he mused.

Porthos picked up the books and threw a fiver down onto the desk. "Thanks," he said stiffly.

"Welcome," came the ironic reply, and Porthos stormed towards the door. He had to pause to let in another customer, which he saw with a vindictive spike of satisfaction was a woman with a small child. Mister Customer Service la Fère didn't strike him as the type to like children, and he hoped it was a supremely annoying one.

Outside he tucked the books into his coat pocket and glanced covertly back in the window. There was no sign of the customers, and Mister Grumpy looked like he'd gone back to his book. Before Porthos turned away again, one last thing caught his eye. On a cushion in the window a large ginger cat lay asleep in the sunshine.

With some surprise, Porthos cautiously revised his opinion. If a cat liked him, and he liked a cat well enough to give it shop space, maybe the man wasn't quite so bad as all that.

\--

Having soothed his ruffled feathers with a pleasant mooch around the rest of the shops and a sticky bun in a cafe, Porthos returned home in a better mood.

His flat, although small, was a nice one, taking up half the ground floor of an old Victorian townhouse. The ceilings were high and windows large, and he nodded silent approval as he took off his coat and put away his various purchases. He'd taken a gamble in moving here without knowing anyone, but the yearning to find out where he came from had finally won out.

He laid the books on the coffee table next to his laptop, intending to flip through them after his supper, then went into the bathroom. Footsore after his afternoon of exploration, Porthos started a bath running then wandered barefoot out to the kitchenette where he poured himself a glass of wine.

With the sound of the bath slowly filling in the background, he sat down and started flipping through the first of the books. Tracing your family seemed to be a case of knowing who and where they were in the first place, which seemed to defeat the object rather. He sighed, taking a sip of the wine and draping the book over his knee. It had been a long week, and he was more worn out than he'd realised. He rested his head against the back of the arm chair, and yawned.

\--

Porthos awoke with a start to a furious banging, and for a second wondered where the hell he was. Something slithered off his lap and hit the floor with a thud, and he stared at it stupidly for a second before recognising the book on family history. 

The banging continued, and his fuzzy brain finally twigged that someone was hammering on his front door.

Frowning, he strode over to the door and yanked it open. To his considerable surprise, the man from the bookshop was standing outside. _Athos_ , his mind supplied helpfully, followed by _Eh?_

"Can I help you?" Porthos asked, echoing Athos' first words to him with a matching chilliness. Athos though, was staring at him with an equal confusion that swiftly turned to barely suppressed disgust.

"Oh Jesus Christ, not you again."

Porthos scowled at him. "Look here, what the fuck do you want?" 

Athos looked incredulous. "What do I want? I want you to turn off whatever fucking tap it is you've got running that's currently pissing into my flat, that's what I want! Preferably before my ceiling caves in."

"You what?" Porthos suddenly remembered with horror the bath he'd set running. Jesus, how long had he been asleep? "Oh, fuck." Leaving Athos standing in the doorway, he turned and dashed back into the flat.

\--

Pushing open the door, Porthos discovered his bathroom floor was awash. A small flood escaped to soak into his living room carpet, and he splashed across to hurriedly turn off the taps and pull out the plug.

Groaning, he returned to the front door with an apology on his lips, but Athos had gone. Porthos closed the door and set about hastily mopping up the damage.

When the worst of it was dealt with and it was mostly just a case of drying out, he put his shoes back on and went out into the hallway. He'd never really paid any attention to the narrow flight of stairs going further down before, but now went down them with a certain amount of caution.

At the bottom was a door identical to his, and after biting his lip and summoning up his courage, Porthos knocked.

A few seconds passed, then it was yanked open and Athos peered out at him suspiciously. 

"Oh God, not you again. Now what?"

Porthos swallowed down an indignant retort. He had to admit, the man had every right to be angry right now.

"I just, er, wondered if you needed any help? Clearing up, like?"

Athos looked surprised, then scornful. "I think you've done enough damage for one day, don't you?" Before Porthos could reply, the door was shut smartly in his face, and he took a startled step backwards.

"Charming," he muttered, but as he went back up to his own flat he was wincing inwardly. How much damage _had_ he caused, he wondered. What if Athos' flat was full of books, what if he'd got them all wet?

Heart sinking, he realised he'd need to phone the letting agent as well, tell them what had happened. Athos' ceiling would probably need at least redecorating, if not repairing, and they'd need to make sure nothing was starting to rot. That was one deposit he wouldn't see again, and it was hardly money he could afford to lose.

He went to bed in low spirits, sweating like a pig all night from the fact the heating was on full in an attempt to dry things out.

\--

The following evening, against his better judgement but at the pricking of his conscience, Porthos found himself back outside Athos' front door clutching a bottle of wine as a peace offering. He was committed to living here for at least a year, assuming the agents didn't evict him for the inadvertent flood, and he really didn't want to start off on the wrong foot with his neighbours. 

The temptation to leave the bottle outside with a note was overwhelming, but Porthos told himself sternly not to be a coward and knocked on the door. He owed the man a proper apology, at least. 

When Athos opened it this time his eyebrows went up at seeing Porthos standing there. "Am I going to need an umbrella for this?" he asked dryly, and Porthos' lips twitched. Athos might be one of the rudest people he'd ever met, but there was a certain scathing humour about him that Porthos rather liked. 

He held out the wine. "I came to say sorry," Porthos said. 

Athos took it cautiously, looking surprised. He turned it over in his hand, reading the label, and nodded slowly. "This is a decent bottle," he murmured, and Porthos thought bloody right it was, it had cost him a small fortune.

Athos looked up sharply at him for a second, then sighed. "I suppose you'll be wanting a glass."

It was a statement rather than a question, and Athos disappeared back inside, leaving the door open. Porthos blinked. He'd been braced to have the door shut in his face again, so to be offered a drink was an unexpected development.

He followed Athos inside, closing the door behind him and looking around with interest. The basic layout was the same as his - one long room running the length of the house with a kitchenette at one end nearest the door and a living area at the other, with a small bedroom and smaller bathroom opening off the main space.

Whereas Porthos' flat was sparsely furnished though, this was crammed with shelves and tables and ornaments that reminded him of the shop. Books were everywhere, and plants, and pictures, and the overall effect was one of cosy chaos.

To Porthos' relief there was no obvious water damage, and he edged between a stack of magazines and a low bookcase full of what looked like sheet music into the living room end.

The kitchenette had a window at high level that seemed to open into a light well at the front of the building below the road, but this end of the room had French windows opening onto the garden and was much lighter.

A battered leather couch stood against the wall, and Porthos was about to sit down when he realised one end was occupied by a ginger cat, staring up at him balefully.

"Hello," Porthos crooned, offering his hand to be sniffed. "Have you got a twin?"

The cat, having inspected his fingers in minute detail, conceded to be stroked and Porthos sat down carefully, making a fuss of him.

"He likes you."

Porthos looked up to find Athos had come over holding two glasses of wine.

"You reckon?" Porthos asked, pleased.

"Oh yes. I've seen him try to take a man's hand off," Athos replied, and Porthos snorted.

"You weren't going to warn me then?"

Athos half smiled. "I wanted to see if he liked you." He held out one of the glasses and Porthos took it with a soft laugh, conceding that Athos had just applied exactly the same criteria as he had the day before. 

"He was in the shop yesterday?" Porthos asked. Athos nodded, and he smiled. "You take him to work?"

"It's more that he follows me around," Athos admitted. "He just walked into the shop one day when it was raining, jumped up on my chair bold as you please, and went to sleep."

"Arrogant little bastard," Porthos smiled, and Athos gave a huff of laughter

"Me, or the cat?"

Porthos looked up and was surprised to catch a fleeting smile. 

"I could hardly leave him shut up there overnight, so I turfed him out when I locked up that night," Athos went on quietly, scratching the cat between the ears. "But he followed me home. I wasn't exactly looking for a pet, so I just fed him and pushed him out again. Except the next morning, there he was, waiting on the pavement for me. Followed me all the way to the shop, then went to sleep in my chair again, as if he'd been doing it all his life." Athos sighed. "I had to buy him a cushion in the end, just to get my seat back. I guess I was adopted," he added with a rueful smile.

"You fed him," Porthos pointed out, and Athos nodded.

"Yes. Stupid of me," he murmured, still stroking the cat, and Porthos warmed to him a little for the first time. 

"What's his name?"

There was a pause, and when Porthos looked up he was delighted to find Athos actually looked embarrassed. 

"Hiss-paniola," Athos admitted reluctantly, and gave a grudging smile at Porthos' bark of laughter. "I was re-reading Treasure Island the day he showed up," Athos explained defensively, finally sitting down himself in the buttoned leather arm chair opposite.

"So - sorry about the flood yesterday," Porthos said after a pause, feeling that things were going well enough for him to risk bringing it up. "Did it damage much?" he asked with a wince, wondering if he'd have to fork out for some priceless first edition or something. To his eternal relief, Athos shook his head.

"No, not really. Your bathroom's above mine, so it was mostly a case of mopping out. The ceiling's a bit fucked, but I think it's only the paintwork." 

"I'll phone the agents tomorrow," Porthos said. "I expect they'll come and repaint for you." He sighed. "Guess I can wave goodbye to my deposit."

Athos looked at him consideringly. "What happened?" he asked. "I mean, I feel I should be forewarned if it's something you're in the habit of doing."

Porthos shook his head. "My shower doesn't work," he said. "And the bath takes ages to fill. I know I should have kept an eye on it, but I only meant to sit down for a moment. I fell asleep." He gave Athos an apologetic smile. "Sorry. Guess I was more tired than I thought."

"Moving house takes it out of you," Athos murmured, then waved his glass vaguely when Porthos looked surprised. "I heard someone moving in a few days ago."

"I hadn't really thought about the fact there was another flat down here," Porthos admitted guiltily. There was a metal staircase down to the communal garden from the end of the ground floor hall, and if he'd given the basement a thought at all, he'd assumed it was just storage. "I hope I've not been too noisy?"

Athos shook his head. "These old places are pretty solidly built. I don't hear much at all down here. That's why I like it." He gave Porthos an sideways look, apparently making up his mind about something. 

"Sorry for slamming the door in your face yesterday. That was rude, even for me."

Porthos smiled. "That's okay. I probably deserved it. I had just made it rain indoors, after all."

Athos topped up their glasses and sat back again. "How were the books?" he asked. "Any good?"

Porthos looked confused for a moment, then twigged what he was talking about. 

"Oh! I've, er, not really had a chance to go through them yet to be honest. Bit too much cleaning up to be doing." He sighed. "I've had a brief flick through though. It all seems more complicated than I was hoping."

"Is it just family history you're after, or living relatives?" Athos asked.

Porthos hesitated. "Both, I guess. I don't know anything about my father's side of the family, other than that they come from here." He hesitated. "Tell you the truth I'm not even certain I've got my father's name," he admitted. "I might have no chance."

"Your mother won't help?" 

"My mother's dead."

"Ah. Sorry. I should have worked that out," Athos apologised, but Porthos waved it away.

"No worries. She died when I was a kid, so it's not exactly recent." He sighed. "I'd just like to _know_ , you know? Who I am."

"Who you are doesn't depend on where you come from," Athos offered, but Porthos frowned at him.

"Easy to say when you know in the first place," he said stiffly. 

Athos nodded peaceably. "Have you tried the registry office?" has asked. "I'd start there if I were you. Your father's name's bound to be on your birth certificate. And try the county archives. They'll be used to people tracing their family. Parish church registers as well maybe. Although I'd guess a lot of it's online these days. Register with one of those sites, maybe?"

"I've tried some of the free searches," Porthos admitted. "But without a firm date or place of birth it's like looking for a needle in a haystack." He smiled. "Thanks for the tips though. Citizen's Advice Bureau or not."

Athos gave a snort of laughter and looked slightly shamefaced. "Sorry about that," he muttered. "I was a bit hungover. I just wanted everyone to leave me alone."

"At three in the afternoon?" Porthos jibed, and Athos smirked.

"Alright, maybe more than a bit."

Porthos' stomach rumbled at that point, and he drained his glass and stood up. "I'd better be off before I drink all of your apology present. And sorry, again, for causing havoc."

Athos walked him to the door, and shrugged. "One way to get to know your neighbours I suppose. Although I believe asking for a cup of sugar's more traditional."

Porthos laughed. "Yeah, maybe. Thanks for the drink. Guess I'll see you around?" 

"Yeah." Athos leaned against the doorframe and looked thoughtfully at him as he made his way towards the stairs. "And hey, don't worry too much about losing your deposit. The insurance should cover it. I set fire to my oven once, and I didn't have to pay a thing."

Porthos turned back with a grateful smile, but Athos had already closed his door again.

\--

The next morning Porthos was mooching around the flat in his dressing gown, knowing he should make the most of the week before he started his new job but also enjoying being lazy for once, when he heard the main door to the building bang shut and glanced out of the window.

In the same scruffy green jacket he'd been wearing in the shop, Athos was walking down the steps to the pavement, the ginger cat at his heels. Porthos smiled to himself, and ended up watching them all the way down the street. It looked like Athos was talking to the cat as he walked, and was definitely waiting for it to catch up when the cat paused to investigate new and interesting smells.

Porthos sighed and turned away a little guiltily. It wasn't fair when Athos didn't know he was being watched, plus he could picture exactly what kind of retort he'd get if he dared tell Athos how adorable they looked.

Instead he got dressed and made himself phone the lettings agency, confessing what he'd done. To his considerable relief the woman on the phone didn't tell him off, just took down the details of which flats were affected, and said they'd be in touch. No money was mentioned, although he suspected that would come later. They'd need to assess the damage first.

To distract himself from thoughts of potentially ruinous repair bills, Porthos set about taking Athos' advice and seeing if he could apply for a copy of his birth certificate online. It was such a blindingly obvious step he didn't know why it hadn't occurred to him before, and was grateful to Athos for suggesting it. 

A certain amount of faffing about searching for the required registry reference code lead to the mildly disturbing discovery that his birthday was in fact two months later than he'd always thought it was. Porthos keyed in his card details to order the copy certificate with hands that were shaking slightly. 

The other piece of information the site threw up was that the name du Vallon appeared to be his mother's maiden name, and Porthos closed the laptop deep in thought. He wouldn't discover his father's name until the certificate arrived in the post - and realised there was a certain risk it wouldn't be included at all. But his mother had told him scraps, enough to lead him here, so he trusted that she would have recorded the name for posterity.

Restless and wanting someone to share the information with, Porthos kept an eye out for Athos to come home that evening. He wasn't sure Athos would be interested, but the sad truth was he had no one else to tell. He'd left a few friends and ex-boyfriends behind in London, but no one he could call up on the spur of the moment and just unburden himself to.

When he finally spotted Athos coming down the road it was raining hard and he had his jacket done right up to his chin, head down against the weather. Even without being able to see his expression Porthos could tell he was in a bad mood, and he felt abruptly less confident about bothering him. Athos had already declared he wasn't interested, and it wasn't as if they were actually friends. He only knew his name because of an overheard telephone call, and Porthos realised he'd never told Athos his at all.

As Athos reached the house Porthos noticed this time there was no cat at his heels. He was just wondering if he'd left Hisspaniola at the shop after all, when a ginger head poked indignantly out of the collar of Athos' jacket. Porthos experienced an unexpected rush of affection for the ridiculous man, and Athos suddenly felt a lot less intimidating. 

From behind the curtain Porthos watched Athos fumbling with his keys, supporting the wriggling cat with one hand as he opened the door and ducked thankfully inside.

Leaving it a few seconds so that it didn't look too much like he'd been lying in wait, Porthos went out into the hallway. Hisspaniola was sitting at the top of the stairs washing himself vigorously, and Porthos scratched him on the head as he went past.

Downstairs, Athos' front door was open and Porthos' first assumption that he'd left it for the cat was proved wrong when two men came out, one holding a ladder and one a tin of paint. He nodded to them as they made their way past, and was about to knock on the open door when a voice called out from inside.

"Did you want some fish?"

Porthos looked in just as Athos leaned out the door with a bowl in his hand then drew up in surprise.

"No thanks, I've eaten," Porthos grinned, and Athos spluttered with flustered laughter.

"Not you you twat. Have you seen the cat?"

"Top of the steps. Head up his arse."

Athos banged a fork on the rim of the china bowl, and there was a loud patter of paws down the uncarpeted stairs. Hisspaniola shot between Porthos' legs and into the flat, and Athos turned after him, only to pause and look back.

"Were you looking for me?"

"Oh. Um. Not really. Sort of." Caught off guard, Porthos wished he'd planned what he was going to say. "I see they've done your ceiling?" he ventured. "That was quick."

"Yeah, they phoned me at work, said they were sending someone round," Athos told him, wandering off into the flat. Porthos took this as an invitation and followed him inside, relieved when Athos didn't object.

"They're coming to do me tomorrow," Porthos said. "Going to fix my shower and all. And they're not going to charge me."

"Told you." Athos gave him another of those fleeting smiles. "Want a cuppa?"

"Yeah, if you're making one, thanks." Porthos smiled back, grateful for the excuse to stay. "I'm, um. I'm Porthos by the way."

Athos was towelling off his wet hair and managing to make himself look even more unkempt than usual. "Oh. Yes, right. I'm Athos." 

"I know."

Athos looked surprised, and Porthos felt suddenly embarrassed.

"I, er, I heard you on the phone. In the shop."

"Didn't realise I was being spied on," Athos said rather tartly, but he still set about making the tea and Porthos took a stool at the breakfast bar.

"I wasn't spying," he protested. "I was just there."

Athos looked at him from under his hair, and Porthos suddenly got the impression he was being laughed at. He relaxed a little.

"I wanted to say thanks," Porthos said, as Athos slid a mug across to him, and shook his head at the offer of sugar. "I've ordered a copy of my birth certificate."

"You didn't have one?"

"No." Porthos wrapped his fingers around the mug and sighed. "Don't have much from my childhood to be honest." He hesitated. "I had my birthday all wrong."

"How do you mean?"

"I always thought it was in July. Now it looks like it's actually in September. How could that even happen?"

"If council paperwork was involved at any point, quite easily I imagine," Athos said darkly. "Were you fostered?" he asked more kindly. Porthos nodded. "Maybe they just picked the date you arrived, if no one was sure?"

"Hadn't thought of that." Porthos considered this explanation, and sighed again.

"Pity you didn't find out in August rather than May," Athos said brightly.

"Why?"

"You could have legitimately had two birthday parties."

Porthos laughed, grateful and somewhat surprised that Athos was trying to cheer him up. "You don't strike me as the birthday party type."

Athos shuddered. "Can't stand them. But I've heard other people like them." He smirked. "No accounting for taste."

When Porthos left again half an hour later he was in brighter spirits. It helped, to talk to someone, and Athos was refreshingly down to earth, offering no pity or sympathy but just good plain advice. Porthos suspected that a lot of people might find him rather hard, but it was enough to knock him out of feeling sorry for himself, and for that he was grateful.

\--

A week passed. Porthos started his new job, a fixed term contract he'd taken expressedly for the purposes of being able to move here, and while it was enough to keep him occupied, it was hardly the most gripping of positions. 

One of the perks of being stuck in an office all day meant he could run searches on various ancestry sites when he was bored, and he'd started to build up a picture of several generations of his mother's family. There seemed to be no living relatives though, and he realised how many of his hopes were pinned on there being someone left on his father's side.

Finally the copy of his birth certificate arrived, and with mounting excitement Porthos discovered that his father's surname had actually been Belgard. He'd immediately raced downstairs to tell Athos, but his reception had been noticably cooler than before, and he'd returned home afterwards feeling faintly embarrassed. 

Athos, although now always polite to him, clearly wasn't that interested, and Porthos started to worry that he'd been annoying him. They'd had a coffee together on a couple of occasions when Porthos had turned up uninvited on his doorstep brimming over with the latest news of his searches, but it occurred to him that Athos had never asked him down of his own volition.

Chastened and mildly miserable, Porthos determined to spend at least a week without bothering the man. He was secretly hoping that Athos would seek him out for once, but the days slipped past and Athos didn't seem to register his absence at all. 

Probably glad of the peace, Porthos thought ruefully. At least he had his search to occupy himself with. He applied himself more diligently than ever, and at the end of the week the result was something that left him in absolute shock.

His need for advice outweighing the worry he might be making a nuisance of himself, Porthos made his way downstairs and knocked on Athos' door.

Athos opened it, looking unsurprised to see Porthos standing there, and possibly a little resigned. "Hello. Everything alright"?

"Yes. I - Athos, I think I've found my father!" Porthos blurted.

Athos just looked at him a little blankly. "...Good?" he ventured, as Porthos was clearly waiting for some kind of a response.

"Athos - he's still alive."

Athos stared at him for a long moment, then sighed and pushed the door open wider.

"You'd better come in."

\--


	2. Chapter 2

Porthos sat down heavily on the sofa with a sigh, then blinked as a second later a glass of wine appeared in front of his eyes. His first, perhaps inappropriate thought, was that he'd never noticed what beautiful hands Athos had before. Long and shapely and pale. Pianist's fingers, Porthos mused. 

"You looked like you needed it," Athos said in response to Porthos' look of enquiry as he took the glass.

Athos threw himself down in the chair opposite and swung one foot up to his knee, one hand wrapped lightly round his ankle, the other twirling the stem of his wineglass. With some difficulty, Porthos forced his attention away from Athos' hands and up to his face.

"Go on then. Tell me everything. You might as well," Athos drawled, and Porthos bridled slightly. 

"I don't want to bore you."

Athos smirked at him. "Then make it interesting."

"There's not much to tell," Porthos admitted. "I've tracked him down, he's here, in town - well, just outside it." He frowned. "I looked up the house on streetview. You can only see through the gate, but it looks bloody massive."

"You've spoken to him?" Athos enquired, but Porthos shook his head.

"What do I do?" he pleaded.

Athos looked nonplussed. "Well - go and see him presumably. Isn't that the idea? Congratulations, your hard work's paid off. You've found your _father_ Porthos. Surely he'll be pleased to see you?" Athos studied Porthos' anxious face, and frowned. "He does know you exist, I suppose?"

Porthos took a large mouthful of wine and steadied himself. "Yes, as far as I know. But it's not as if he ever looked for _me_ , is it?" he added with a certain amount of resentment born of a childhood spent mostly in children's homes and various foster families. "He could have found me a lot easier than I found him."

"He may not know your mother's dead," Athos said pragmatically. "Perhaps he would have."

Porthos nodded slowly, grateful again for Athos' ability to calm him down and make him start thinking rationally.

"Won't it look a bit odd if I just turn up?" Porthos sighed. "He might think I'm after his money or something. And I'm not, I swear, I just - I just want to find my family," he finished quietly.

"Then tell him that," Athos said. "He might be delighted to see you. You won't know until you see him. Phone first, or write or something, if you don't want to take him completely by surprise."

"I thought I might go out there, tomorrow," Porthos confessed. "I'm not sure I could bear waiting for him to reply to a letter."

"Well there you are then," said Athos. "You've already made your decision. Well done."

Porthos looked anguished. "But I can't just turn up and say hello daddy, can I?"

"Not unless you want to sound particularly disturbing, no," Athos smirked. "But I don't see why you think you can't just drop in on him. You drop in on me often enough," he added pointedly.

"It's alright for you, you don't care what people think of you," Porthos muttered, ignoring the jibe.

"You should try it. It's very liberating." Athos stretched, and yawned. "Is your personal identity crisis going to last much longer? I'll phone for a takeaway if so."

Porthos gazed at him with a mixture of exasperation and reluctant amusement. For a moment he toyed with the idea of letting go of all the years of angst and searching, and just getting to know Athos better. He wondered if Athos was gay. There certainly didn't seem to be a girlfriend on the scene.

But after all this, to have finally found not just a living relative but his father - Porthos couldn't stop now. He looked at Athos rather hopefully.

"I wondered if you might not - come with me?" he ventured.

"Me?" Athos' eyebrows went up along with the pitch of his voice, but Porthos nodded.

"Moral support, like. Back me up."

"You're serious."

Porthos nodded. "Yeah."

Athos blew out a sigh. "Oh - alright then. If I have to."

"You mean that?" It was Porthos' turn to sound surprised, having expected a flat no.

"Might as well. When did you want to go, tomorrow?"

"Won't you need to open the shop?" 

Athos shrugged. "Not if I don't want to. Not like there'll be a queue of disappointed customers."

Porthos gave him a tentative smile. "That'd be great. Thank you. Really."

"Don't mention it. No, really, don't, gratitude makes me itchy." Athos put his head on one side. "Besides, I admit to a certain amount of curiosity. Although I warn you now, if it's a tearful reunion, I'm running away."

Porthos grinned. "Fair play. I'll call for you tomorrow then?"

"Not too early," Athos warned. "I'm not a morning person."

"You're barely a person person," Porthos retorted, but to his surprise Athos gave a genuine shout of laughter. 

Porthos made his way back upstairs feeling somewhat happier. The thought of having Athos at his side made him feel braver somehow, and he felt he could face whatever the next day brought head on. After all - how bad could it be?

\--

Porthos sat fidgeting at the wheel of his car, staring across the road at the wrought iron gates beyond. It had taken them just under half an hour to drive through town and out here, and he found himself wishing it had taken longer. He wasn't ready for this.

Athos, slumped in the passenger seat and hidden behind dark glasses seemed entirely content to let Porthos pluck up courage in his own time, for which he was grateful. He was also aware that if Athos hadn't been there, he'd probably have chickened out, driven straight past and kept on going.

"Alright. Let's do this." Porthos finally made his mind up and got out of the car. Athos followed, and leaving the car at an angle on the verge they crossed over to peer through the gates.

"Nice place," Athos commented. "Bit run down, mind."

"Do you think he lives here all on his own?" 

"Only one way to find out," Athos pointed out, and Porthos sighed. 

"I know, I know. Don't rush me. How do you reckon we get in? There's no intercom or anything."

Athos shoved at a pedestrian gate to the side of the main driveway, and it creaked open with a squeal of rusted metal. "Apparently, the old fashioned way," he smirked. 

They trooped up the long gravel drive which was pitted and uneven, and rapidly falling to weeds.

"You're sure he is still alive?" Athos muttered, as they came under the shadow for the house. "I don't much fancy discovering he's been sat in there slowly mummifying for years."

Porthos snorted and elbowed him. "Don't be horrible."

Athos gave him a lop-sided grin, and Porthos smiled back, feeling a little braver. He searched in vain for a doorbell, then reluctantly lifted the heavy bronze lion-head knocker and sent three crashing notes echoing through the house.

"Well that was enough to wake the dead, so either way we should be fine," Athos murmured with a mischievous glint in his eye, and Porthos stuck out his tongue.

They stood there for a minute or so, and were just debating whether to try again or wander round the back, when the door creaked open and a man stared out at them in bemusement. Perhaps in his sixties, he was white, with straggly grey hair longer than Athos', and wearing a stained dressing gown and carpet slippers. 

"Whatever it is, I'm not buying," he snapped, in an aristocratic tone at odds with his dishevelled appearance.

"We're not selling anything," Athos replied, seeing that Porthos was briefly at a loss for words. "Are you Mr Belgard?"

" _Lord_ Belgard, yes." He looked between them both with a piercing intensity, and appeared to find them wanting. "Well, what do you want? You've got ten seconds to interest me, then I'm closing this door and calling the police."

Athos looked at Porthos expectantly. It was up to him now.

"Sir, my name is Porthos du Vallon," he began cautiously, looking for any sign that the name rang a bell. Belgard just stared at him blankly.

"And? What do you want, a medal?"

Porthos took a deep breath. "I believe - that I'm your son."

There was a moment of silence. Belgard, rather than softening his expression, if anything looked more chilly than ever.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I've been trying to find you - well, find any of my relatives really," Porthos ploughed on. "It's taken me a long time, but I believe it's true. My mother was Marie-Cesette du Vallon, and your name is on my birth certificate."

"We _can_ prove this," Athos added dryly. "We do have the paperwork."

Belgard glared at him. "And who are you in all this? Are you supposed to be another son? Am I to believe I've spawned tribes?"

"I'm just a friend," Athos said softly, taking off his sunglasses and hooking them in his pocket. "And I realise this must all have come as a shock to you, but Porthos really does believe that you are his father, and do you not think we could perhaps do this inside, rather than on the doorstep?"

"I don't let strangers into my house," Belgard snapped. 

Athos held his gaze levelly. "What about family?"

Belgard was the first to look away with an explosive noise of derision, but he walked inside the house and let them follow him inside.

"Thanks," Porthos mouthed to Athos, who shrugged.

"He'll have to get up early in the morning if he thinks he can be ruder than me," Athos murmured, and Porthos gave him a conspiratorial grin.

Inside the hall was dark and oppressive, mouldering stags heads glaring beadily down at them from the walls, and an umbrella stand by the door that appeared to be made from an elephant's leg. A thick layer of dust covered a sideboard and table, and Porthos looked around dubiously. 

Belgard lead them at a slow, shuffling pace into the depths of the house to a parlour that at least had a bright fire blazing cheerfully. The day outside had been sunny and warm, but inside the house the cold had seemed to strike bone deep.

"Let's see then," Belgard demanded, and Porthos looked at his outstretched hand in confusion.

"See what?"

"Your proof. Your paperwork. I assume you can back up your claims?"

"Oh. Yes. Of course." Porthos took an envelope out of his coat pocket containing photocopies of everything he'd found, and handed it over.

For a few minutes Belgard studied them in silence, only looking up in annoyance when Athos decided to take a seat on one of the couches.

"I don't remember inviting you to sit down young man."

"No, terribly remiss of you, I assumed it had been an oversight," Athos shot back, and Belgard harrumphed and went back to his reading. Porthos tentatively sat down next to Athos and they shared a tight smile. This wasn't quite going how either of them had expected.

"Well. I think I know the best place for these." Having finished perusing the information, Belgard took a couple of steps across the room and threw the sheaf of papers onto the fire.

Porthos and Athos had both looked up at his words but neither was able to move fast enough to stop him, taken utterly by surprise.

"What are you doing!" Porthos was on his feet, shocked rather than angry, but Belgard stood in front of the fire to prevent him trying to rake them out again.

"I know your game," Belgard said viciously. "You think you can come here looking for a handout. Well you'll not get a penny from me. Your mother was just the same, oh yes, I remember her, tried to get me to marry her by claiming she was pregnant. Well I got rid of her, and I'll get rid of you just the same!"

"You have to at least admit she was right," said Athos, coming to stand at Porthos' side and looking quietly furious.

"I have to admit nothing," Belgard spat. "Some whore puts my name on a birth certificate, what does that prove? He could be anyone's whelp."

"There are tests - "

"Athos, leave it. Come on, let's go," Porthos said miserably, tugging at his arm.

"That's it, get out of my house. Run away back to mummy. Marie put you up to this I suppose?"

Porthos shook his head numbly. "She died when I was still a child. All I wanted to do was find out if I had any other family left. I don't want your money, it was never about that."

Belgard folded his arms implacably. "Get out of my sight. You're no son of mine."

In a daze, Porthos stumbled back out through the house and down the drive, trying desperately to force back tears. He didn't want to break down in front of Athos, was already humiliated beyond bearing. His hands were shaking so much he dropped the car keys into the grass, and it was Athos that picked them up.

"Do you want me to drive?" Athos murmured. "I'm not sure you're in a fit state."

Porthos nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and Athos patted his arm. "Get in then," he said kindly, and Porthos had to bite down hard on his lower lip to stop it from trembling. It occurred to him he had no idea if Athos even had a driving licence, and he certainly wasn't insured to drive Porthos' car, but he seemed confident, and right now Porthos thought it was probably the safer option either way. His vision was worryingly blurry, and he'd probably drive them straight into a lamp post.

To his relief Athos pulled away from the verge with a practised ease, and Porthos sank into the passenger seat in a haze of stunned misery.

\--

Porthos was barely conscious of passing the journey home, grateful only that Athos drove in silence and didn't press him to talk. He felt like he'd been physically punched in the face, too shocked and bewildered to be angry yet.

Hurt and embarrassed, he wanted nothing more than to hide away in shame, but as he shuffled towards the door of his flat Athos placed a guiding hand in the small of his back and manoeuvred him towards the stairs instead.

"Not that way. Come on."

Porthos let himself be shepherded downstairs into Athos' flat, where Athos took his coat off him and gave him a gentle push in the direction of the living area.

"Go and sit yourself down," Athos murmured, and Porthos did as he was told. A few seconds later Athos reappeared with a bottle of whisky and two glasses, and rather than taking his accustomed seat in the armchair sat down next to Porthos on the couch.

"Here. Get this down you." Athos handed him a glass and poured out a stiff measure. "It'll make you feel better."

Porthos swallowed the burning liquid in two large gulps, and coughed. Athos was right, the shock of the spirit jolted him out of the trance-like state he'd been moving in, but it also made everything come into that much sharper focus, and he felt the urge to burst into tears rising in his throat again.

He sniffed, and surreptitiously wiped one eye with his wrist, hoping that Athos would just think his eyes were watering from gulping down the whisky.

"I'm sorry," Athos said softly, leaning briefly against Porthos' shoulder with a comforting press of his arm. "That was a shitty outcome to everything. Are you okay?"

"I thought I'd already taken everything life could throw at me, you know?" Porthos managed. "I never - all I wanted - " he broke off again, unable to get the words out, and to his horrified shame felt hot tears spilling down his cheeks. "Sorry. I'm sorry," he mumbled, trying to wipe his face, but Athos leaned in and slipped an arm around him.

"Shhh. It's alright. Come here."

Porthos let Athos pull him into an awkward hug, crumpling into his arms a moment later as he realised Athos was genuine in his offer of comfort. The floodgates opened and Porthos found himself wracked with sobs, face buried in Athos' shoulder.

Athos stayed quiet, rubbing his back reassuringly and letting Porthos cry himself out.

Eventually Porthos pulled back, thoroughly ashamed of himself. "Sorry," he mumbled, taking the tissue that Athos offered him. "I promised you no tears."

"Don't be," Athos told him. "Hardly the circumstances I had in mind." He refilled their glasses and gave one to Porthos. "Here." He clinked his glass against it and they both drank.

"Thanks," Porthos murmured, looking sideways at him.

"A good single malt solves a lot of life's problems," Athos said blithely, and Porthos managed a smile.

"I meant for - you know." He sighed. "God knows what you must think of me."

Athos smiled briefly, and stared down into his glass. "Maybe I was just taking advantage of the opportunity to have a handsome man in my arms," he said lightly.

Surprised, Porthos turned to him, but Athos wouldn't meet his eyes. Porthos realised Athos was both letting him know he was gay, and at the same time terribly nervous about what his reaction would be. In reply, he let his fingers slide over Athos' free hand, and when Athos looked up, he curled their fingers together until they were holding hands, nodding slightly in answer to the question in Athos' eyes.

Athos gave a breathy laugh and blushed, squeezing Porthos' hand briefly before drawing his own away and freshening their half-full glasses again.

"Trying to get me drunk?" Porthos smiled.

Athos looked amused. "Why not? Did you have other plans?"

"No. Not any more." Porthos looked abruptly miserable again and Athos winced at his thoughtless choice of words.

"What will you do?" he asked quietly.

"How d'you mean?"

"Well. You moved here looking for him," Athos pointed out.

Porthos heaved a sigh and nodded. "I've got a good job, a nice flat. Maybe I should concentrate on what I have got, rather than what I haven't."

"Family's overrated," Athos agreed, but Porthos snorted.

"There speaks a man who I'm guessing grew up in the bosom of one."

"Well, exactly," drawled Athos, unabashed. "So I'm speaking from experience."

Porthos gave a reluctant laugh and slumped back into the corner of the couch. Athos settled into the opposite corner, kicking off his shoes and drawing his feet up to sit cross-legged. With the bottle wedged between them amongst the cushions, they set about the serious business of emptying it.

\--

By the time they coaxed the last drops from the bottle it was dark outside, and Athos and Porthos were leaning companionably against each other in a warm haze of inebriation.

"I sh'ld go home," Porthos said, sitting up and swaying slightly in place.

"Why?" Athos was draped bonelessly against him and when Porthos turned his head to look at him he had to blow Athos' hair out of his face.

"B'cause I've drunk all your booze, not eaten all day, and if I sleep here I'll wake up with a cat on my face."

A lazy smirk formed on Athos' lips, and he propped his chin on Porthos' shoulder, looking up at him through brightly speculative eyes. "You could stay," he slurred. "Perfectly good bed."

Porthos tried to blink him into focus, having to pull away a bit to manage it. "What are you saying?"

Athos gave a snort of amusement. "What do you think I'm saying? Stay the night." He closed the gap between them again although didn't try to kiss him, just gazed at Porthos with a sleepy expectance.

"You're drunk," Porthos pointed out.

"So are you," Athos retorted. "What's that got to do with anything?"

Porthos looked at him, slowly smiling despite himself. It was a surprising offer, although not unwelcome. Athos seemed genuine in his enthusiasm for it, although whether that would extend to the morning after remained to be seen. He found himself leaning in towards Athos, mirroring his movement, until they were just a whisper away from each other.

"This is a bad idea," Porthos murmured. Athos smiled delightedly.

"They're my favourite."

The kiss, when it happened, was passionate. Porthos surprised himself with his hunger for it, crushing their mouths together and pulling Athos roughly into his arms. This was no tentative exploration but a demanding exchange of fierce, eager kisses. They clutched at each other, inhibitions well loosened by the whisky, and were soon panting and groaning with restless desire.

"Come to bed," Athos repeated, in between leaving a trail of biting kisses down Porthos' neck that made him shiver with arousal.

"You sure?" Porthos hesitated, conscious both that he didn't actually know Athos all that well yet, and they were both three sheets to the wind. Athos just slid a hand into his and tugged insistently until Porthos got to his feet and let himself be towed into the bedroom.

It was the first time he'd been in here, and it was as cluttered as the rest of the flat, but the bed was clean and comfortable, and Athos pulled him down into his arms. Having established that they were apparently going to do this, they started shedding clothing with a will, both taking considerable pleasure in the gradual reveal of the other's body. 

"Fuck, you're spectacular," breathed Athos, spoiling the effect slightly by ending it with a drunken giggle. Porthos just grinned and pushed him back down on the bed, capturing Athos' wrists in one hand above his head and kissing him thoroughly.

"You got condoms?"

Athos nodded, breathless and still trying to wriggle out of his jeans. "In the drawer." He waved a careless hand towards the bedside table and banged it on the corner. "Ow."

Porthos recaptured his hand and kissed it better before investigating the drawer. It was a disorganised tangle of odds and ends, but there were plenty of condoms and several sachets of lube and Porthos was relieved it hadn't been an issue. Although it raised another question, about who was going to do whom. Porthos had no real objection to bottoming, but he preferred to do it with a partner he'd built up a certain amount of trust with.

"Do you mind if I - " he waved a condom vaguely at Athos, hoping he'd get the message. To his relief, Athos apparently had no such qualms and nodded immediately. 

"Be my guest." He spread his now bare legs obligingly, and Porthos gave him a broad grin. There was something guiltily appealing about drunk Athos, and it wasn't just his eagerness to fuck. He was softer somehow, more given to easy smiles.

Porthos skinned up and knelt over him, Athos immediately wrapping his arms around him with the tenacity of a limpet and kissing his way down Porthos' chest.

They were both too drunk to concentrate on much foreplay, and Athos seemed content for Porthos to go for it after the minimum of cursory fingering. Porthos slicked himself up with a palmful of lube while Athos mostly got in the way and knocked foil sachets all over the floor.

"Gerroff, you're not helping," Porthos scolded, and Athos lay back obediently and gave him a wicked smirk.

"Hurry up and fuck me then."

"Right, you asked for it." Porthos settled himself in position and took his cock in his hand, nudging into Athos as smoothly as he could manage. The drink made him feel clumsy though, and he was acutely aware of Athos' wide eyes and laboured breathing.

"Okay?" he checked, but Athos nodded quickly.

"Yeah. Fine." His smile was a little tight, but it was genuine, and he reached out to stroke down Porthos' arms. "Better than fine." He pushed his shoulders down into the bedclothes for leverage and shunted his way deeper onto Porthos' cock.

It was Porthos' turn to look astonished, and Athos laughed quietly at his expression. He held out his arms and Porthos sank into them, starting to fuck him in earnest with long rolling thrusts of his hips. It had been several long months since Porthos had split up with his last boyfriend, and as he'd never really gone in for casual sex this came as a welcome relief.

Did this count as casual, Porthos wondered, realising he didn't know if Athos only saw it as a one night stand or the beginning of something more. Either way he was determined to enjoy it, grateful to Athos for this very effective method of cheering him up and taking his mind off the unexpectedly traumatic events of the day.

Judging by the volume of his moans Athos was enjoying it just as much. He had his head thrown back and his eyes closed, rocking and clenching in time with Porthos' thrusts and pumping his own cock with a vigorous fist. 

In fact, just how much he was enjoying it became apparent in a very short space of time, when Athos suddenly tensed and came all over Porthos' chest without warning. Afterwards he lay there panting and looking a little dazed, while Porthos slowed his movements and smiled down at him in faint amusement.

"That was quick."

Athos gave a sheepish splutter of laughter. "Sorry." He smiled unrepentantly up at Porthos, utterly pliant and relaxed. "It's been a while."

Porthos shook his head in mock despair. "Alright if I - ?"

"Knock yourself out," Athos agreed, and Porthos resumed his thrusting, a little self-consciously at first but with increasing vigour as Athos seemed to derive just as much pleasure from it post-orgasm and encouraged him on with as many breathy moans and kisses as before.

Soon it was Porthos who was coming, burying his face in the damp crook of Athos' neck and groaning out his climax as he shuddered with it from head to foot. Athos wrapped him in strong arms, and for a few minutes they just lay together getting their breath back.

Eventually Porthos disentangled himself and sat up, while Athos reached out for him protestingly.

"I just want to clean up a bit," Porthos explained. He had Athos' spunk drying on his chest, and his fingers were all sticky with lube.

Athos' muttered response was largely incomprehensible, but he let Porthos slide out of his grasp and out of the bed. 

Porthos made his way to the bathroom and had a quick piss and then a much needed wash, staring at himself in the mirror for a moment before turning out the light and heading back to the bedroom. He found Athos was already fast asleep, and despite prodding him experimentally could only raise a muffled grunt. 

He wondered whether to get dressed and go back to his own flat, but the thought of getting into a cold and lonely bed was unappealing in the extreme. In the end he crawled back in, after a moment's hesitation snuggling up behind Athos' naked form and slipping an arm around him.

Athos murmured in his sleep, and pressed back instinctively against Porthos' warm body. Porthos reached over to switch off the lamp, and fell asleep contentedly.

\--


	3. Chapter 3

When Porthos woke the next morning he was at first confused to find himself in a strange bed and then briefly panicked until he remembered it was Sunday and he didn't have to be at work. He flopped back into the pillows and yawned. His head throbbed and he felt vaguely nauseous, but given the amount he'd drunk on an empty stomach he decided it could have been worse.

The other side of the bed was empty, but the smell of coffee drifted through from the living room and he perked up a bit. After lying there for a few more minutes he concluded Athos wasn't coming back to bed and got up and got dressed.

Venturing out into the flat, he found Athos sitting at the breakfast bar, wearing a dressing gown hanging open over a t-shirt and boxer shorts. At first Porthos thought he had his head in his hands, then realised he was just inhaling the steam from a cup of coffee with his eyes closed, as if it might hold a cure to all the world's ills.

"Morning!" Porthos called cheerfully. 

Athos cracked open one bleary eye and regarded him somewhat balefully. "Mmn. Apparently."

Porthos faltered, unsure if this was just Athos in a bad mood, or if he regretted what they'd done. 

Athos though seemed to realise this had been a less than forthcoming way to speak to a visitor in his home and made a further effort. "There's coffee in the pot, if you want."

He sounded less than inviting, and Porthos was left wondering miserably if they'd made a mistake after all. 

"Would you rather I went?" he asked quietly. 

Athos finally opened both eyes and peered at him in mild surprise. "No?" He shrugged. "Do as you please." 

Porthos relaxed a fraction, and went over to the coffee pot, pouring himself half a cup. When he turned round, he found Athos was looking at him inquisitively.

"Did we have sex last night?"

Porthos spluttered with indignant laughter. "Well I'm glad it was so memorable!"

Athos smirked into his coffee, and shrugged. "It'll come back to me," he murmured. "I'll at least get the edited highlights as flashbacks at some point." He suddenly froze, as if he'd found a bug floating in his cup. "Oh Christ."

"What?" Porthos asked, not sure whether to be concerned or reluctantly amused.

Athos looked sideways at him. "Did I come in about two minutes flat last night?" he asked cautiously.

Porthos laughed, feeling relieved that regardless of whether Athos fully recalled what he'd done, that he didn't seem bothered that he'd done it.

"Charitably, closer to five. But yeah."

Athos gave a huff of laughter. "Shit. Sorry." He looked up at Porthos and made a face. "I never claimed I was any good at it."

Porthos leaned against the worktop next to him and smiled. "I don’t think either of us were at our best last night," he said softly. 

"You could be right." Athos sipped his coffee and sighed.

"I wanted to say - thanks," Porthos ventured after they'd drunk in silence for a few minutes.

"For my spectacular lack of control?" Athos asked, raising an eyebrow.

Porthos smiled. "For taking my mind off things."

"Oh, well." Athos stretched and made an expansive gesture with his hands. "My motives were purely selfish, I assure you."

Porthos drained his coffee and grinned. "Right, I'm going upstairs for a shower." He hesitated. "See you later?"

Athos nodded vaguely. "Yeah, if you want."

On impulse Porthos leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, then glancing back as he opened the door found Athos staring after him with a surprised smile on his face.

\--

One shower, two bacon sandwiches and about a gallon of tea later, Porthos was feeling somewhat more human. He wondered what to do with the rest of his day, and whether Athos would be up for anything. On the other hand he didn't want to push his luck, or disturb him if he'd gone back to bed.

In the middle of this deliberating his phone rang, and Porthos stared in puzzlement at the screen, not recognising the number.

"Hello?"

"Hello. Am I speaking to Porthos?" It was a cultured voice and one that was vaguely familiar, although Porthos couldn't immediately place it.

"Yes. Who's this?"

"It's - well, it's your father."

Porthos froze. "What do you want?" he asked gruffly. "How did you get this number?"

"It was on one of the sheets of paper you gave me," came the reply. "I pulled what was left of them out of the fire. I felt after you'd gone that I was perhaps - shall we say rather hasty, in my actions?"

"Bloody rude would be another way of putting it," Porthos growled. "You made your position clear. What makes you think I want to speak to you now?"

"Porthos, I am offering you an apology," Belgard persisted calmly, and Porthos prickled with embarrassment at being made to feel like he was the one being unreasonable. 

"What I did, burning your papers like that was unforgiveable," Belgard continued, in a tone that suggested he expected to be forgiven nonetheless. "I hope I didn't cause you too much trouble by that?"

"Nah, they were copies," Porthos admitted, passing a hand over his face in bemusement at this turn-about in events. "Look, sorry, I'm not being offensive but what do you want, exactly?" 

"I confess you took me rather by surprise yesterday. Once I'd had time to think about it, I realised I was perhaps unfair in my response. You are, of course, not responsible for any unhappy parting I may have had with your mother, and if you are in fact my son - please, I do not mean to imply you're trying to mislead me - then surely that is a thing I should celebrate rather than decry."

Porthos pursed his lips. "Are you saying you're pleased after all?" he said dubiously.

"Let's just say I would welcome the chance to get to know you a little better," said Belgard smoothly. "Are you busy? Perhaps you could come out to the house again - forgive me, I don't get out much myself these days. And - come alone this time. We can have a nice little chat. Just the two of us."

\--

"You've been _where?_ " Athos looked up from filling the kettle in surprise, assuming he'd misunderstood. 

"With my father," Porthos repeated, straddling one of the stools at the breakfast bar and leaning across the counter. "He called me, this morning. Said he wanted to make amends. That he'd been too hasty."

Athos snorted. "After the way he behaved yesterday I'd have told him where to stick his apology."

"Yeah, well we all know you're a people person," Porthos grinned. "I just figured - give him a chance, you know?"

"You're more forgiving than me," Athos retorted, setting out two mugs. "The way he spoke to you was appalling."

"It just all came as a bit of a shock to him," Porthos said defensively. "But he's come round to the idea now."

"That was quick." Athos eyed him suspiciously. "What does he want?"

Porthos scowled, irritated by Athos' attitude. "He doesn't want anything. He just wants to get to know me. I thought you'd be _pleased_ for me?"

"I just think it's an unlikely about-face," Athos said, frowning back at him. "How do you know he hasn't got an ulterior motive?"

"Why do you have to be so suspicious of people all the time?" Porthos demanded. 

"Because I'm usually right."

"Must be awful being you," Porthos muttered. Athos banged the mug of tea down in front of him harder than he'd meant to, and it slopped over the side.

"Nobody's forcing you to spend all your time in my flat," he said acidly, shaking tea off his fingers. "If I'm such an awful person why don't you fuck off again?"

Porthos sighed. "Don't be like that." He fished a tissue out of his pocket and mopped up the tea puddle. 

A little stiffly, Athos took the stool opposite him. "I just don't want to see you get hurt," he muttered under his breath.

Porthos gave him a tentative smile. "And that's lovely of you. But I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself. And I happen to think it's worth it. I've put so much effort into finding him, it'd be daft to throw it all away without properly trying."

"I suppose," Athos conceded dubiously. "So - he was okay then? This time?"

Porthos nodded. "He'd even been down and opened the gate for me."

"Probably wanted to check out what sort of car you drove," Athos said, then held up his hand in apology at the look Porthos gave him. "Sorry. Sorry, go on."

"We had tea. He told me a bit about his side of the family." Porthos hesitated. "He said my mother used to work for him."

"Oh, so he knocked her up and then kicked her out? Charming fellow."

"It wasn't like that!" Porthos snapped, feeling annoyed because that had been his first thought too. "There was more to it than that. He said he didn't want to go into too much detail, because it was too painful for him."

"And you swallowed all this guff did you?"

"It's not guff! He said he was sorry, okay? That he saw now he'd been wrong not to believe her, and that he wanted to make amends, through me."

Athos snorted derisively. "Best way to do that would be if he could do the full Miss Havisham, set fire to his dressing gown and leave you the house."

"Athos! This is my father you're talking about!"

"A father you've known for five minutes, and who yesterday threw you out of his house whilst loudly disowning you," Athos pointed out.

"It was just a misunderstanding," Porthos argued. "Please be happy for me Athos? This is what I've wanted for so long."

"So long that you're prepared to forgive him however badly he treats you?"

Porthos spread his hands on the worktop and studied them, trying not to get angry. "I know you're only looking out for me, and I appreciate it. But he's my _father_."

"So? Anyone can be a father. Not like you need to pass an exam."

"Maybe we should just change the subject," Porthos growled. 

Athos sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm not deliberately trying to upset you. If you're happy, then I'm glad for you, I really am."

Mollified, Porthos sipped his tea and relaxed a little. "We got on okay, in the end. Considering the shaky start," he mused. "I get where you're coming from, and believe me, I was sceptical when he first called me. Massively so. But I'm glad I went. Spent most of the afternoon there in the end. It's a huge old place, although he only seems to live in a few rooms. We talked about maybe doing some of it up."

Athos looked at him. "If I suggest he's using you as cheap labour, you're going to shout at me, aren't you?"

"Don't," Porthos said shortly. "Just - don't, okay?"

Athos wisely kept quiet, and Porthos continued. "It's certainly got a lot of potential. Shame to see it falling into disrepair. I'm happy to help out in my spare time, if he needs a few bits doing. He's getting on a bit, he admitted it's getting to be a struggle."

"Moved quickly enough when he was burning your photocopies," Athos muttered.

"Yeah, well. He apologised for that, and I've accepted his apology, so that's an end of it, okay?" Porthos toyed with his mug, wishing Athos was more understanding but knowing full well he had nobody else to talk to about all this. "And if it helps him out, I don't mind running a few errands."

Athos looked up sharply at this suggestion that Belgard was already taking advantage of Porthos' good nature. "Like what?"

Porthos shrugged. "Got me to deliver a parcel for him on the way home, that was all."

"What sort of parcel?"

"I dunno, a parcel-parcel. Just a packet really. It wasn't out of my way or anything." _Much,_ he thought.

"He lives in a mansion, he can't afford a stamp?" Athos drawled, then looked surprised when Porthos stormed to his feet. 

"Stop it. Just - stop it, okay? I'm trying really hard to make this work and you're just - constantly picking at it."

Athos stared at him in silence, not entirely sure if by 'this' Porthos meant them or his father.

"I just think you're being a little naive," he said finally. "Nobody who reacted like he did yesterday changes their mind that completely unless they're getting something out of it."

"He's getting a son Athos, is that not enough for you? You really think I'm not worth having?"

"I didn't say that, don't twist my words," Athos snapped back. "I just happen to think delivering mysterious packages without knowing what they are is a dangerous habit to get into."

"Jesus." Porthos stared at him. "It wasn't a 'mysterious package', it was just some post. He can't get out to the post office, okay? How stupid do you think I am?"

"Porthos - "

"No, you know what, fuck it. Fuck you. Goodbye Athos, enjoy your miserable, lonely fucking life." With that, Porthos strode to the door and banged his way out of the flat without looking back. 

\--

The bell over the door in the bookshop gave a doleful tinkle as Porthos sidled in during his lunchbreak the next day. He'd passed a dejected evening alone, his fit of temper gone almost as soon as it had arisen, but sensed it would be unwise to approach Athos again that night.

Athos was in his customary seat at the desk and deep in a book, although Porthos suspected he knew perfectly well who had just walked in. He came to stand before the desk but said nothing, waiting for Athos to acknowledge his presence. 

Finally Athos glanced up and glared at him. "What the fuck do you want?"

"I came to apologise," Porthos said simply. He was banking on Athos wanting to make up as much as he did, but knew there was a chance he'd blown it for good.

Athos just stared at him expressionlessly for what felt like an agonisingly long moment.

"Last time you apologised, you brought me a bottle of wine," Athos said eventually.

Inwardly, Porthos heaved a sigh of weak relief. Outwardly, he just held out a paper bag.

"Danish pastry. Take it or leave it."

Athos reached out and twitched the bag out of his hand, peering inside to inspect the contents critically while Porthos held his breath and waited for the verdict.

"Hmmpff. I suppose you'll be wanting a coffee?"

Porthos tried not to let his relieved happiness show in his face, and gave a nonchalant shrug. "Wouldn't say no."

Looking at him levelly, Athos got up and went over to lock the door and flip the sign, beckoning Porthos with a jerk of his head to follow him deeper into the shop.

"So," Porthos ventured, "do I get an apology for calling me stupid then?"

Athos glanced over his shoulder. "I didn't call you stupid, I called you naive," he pointed out equably.

"Whatever."

Athos unlocked a door under the stairs marked 'staff only', and leaned against the door jamb to give Porthos an impish grin.

"So prove me wrong, and I'll apologise," he said, ducking into the room beyond before Porthos could object.

Porthos followed him in, surprised to find it was a tiny kitchen containing an ancient sink with a single tap, a dual plate electric hob that looked like it had seen better days, and a table and two rickety looking chairs. A door opened off the room on the far side into what appeared to be a toilet.

"I never knew this was here," Porthos said, peering out of the creeper-clad window to discover it had a view of the river.

"As you can see, all mod cons," Athos said, filling a kettle at the sink. 

"I'm honoured." Porthos smiled when Athos looked enquiring. "I'm guessing not many people get invited into your inner sanctum?"

Athos laughed. "I thought you'd already been in my inner sanctum?"

It was Porthos' turn to laugh and he finally relaxed, coming over to stand next to Athos, intimately close. 

"Talking of which," he said softly. "Did you fancy a repeat performance some time? Maybe see how it goes when we're both sober this time, what do you say?"

Athos snorted. "Not sure I've ever had sober sex," he mused. Porthos grinned.

"Well there you are, every day's an education with me." 

Athos gave him a lopsided smile. "Alright. If you like."

Taking this as by Athos' standards an enthusiastic endorsement, Porthos leaned in closer and captured his mouth in a tentative kiss. He wasn't a hundred percent sure what Athos' reaction would be, but suddenly found his arms full of the man.

"Maybe we should do it right here," Porthos laughed, after they'd been kissing intently for several minutes.

"No, the coffee'll go cold," Athos smirked, wriggling out of Porthos' embrace and collecting the cafetiere and two chipped mugs.

"Tonight then?" Porthos persisted, following him back out into the shop, where they settled at Athos' desk with the coffee and pastries.

"Okay," said Athos, after only the barest hesitation. "Why not?"

Porthos' reply was interrupted by the ringing of his phone, and something must have shown in his face, because Athos rolled his eyes.

"Daddy dearest?"

"Don't call him that. Do you mind if I - ?"

"Be my guest." Athos waved a dismissive hand, and turned his attention to his pastry. Porthos wandered away into an aisle of books to answer the call, and when he came back looked suspiciously at the empty bag.

"I'm sure I still had half of mine left."

Athos looked innocent. "No? You must have eaten it without noticing."

Porthos gave a resigned laugh, willing enough to concede half a cake in return for Athos not making difficulties about his father.

"What did he want?" Athos asked, nodding at the phone in his hand,.

"Oh. He wants me to pop up there after work."

"Tonight off again already then is it?" Athos asked pointedly, but Porthos shook his head.

"No way. I won't be long out there. I'll be with you by seven at the latest, tops." He took a last mouthful of coffee and pulled his jacket back on. "I'd better get back to work. I'll see you this evening, okay?" He leaned over and kissed Athos on the mouth. "Promise."

\--

After work Porthos spent a pleasant hour slowly walking through the grounds of the house with his father, discussing how they could tidy areas up and what outbuildings needed repairing. Porthos liked to think that his appearance on the scene had given the old man a new lease of life and interest in his estate.

Deep in conversation, when they finally circled slowly back to the front of the house Porthos looked at his watch and saw guiltily that it was almost half past six. He'd have to get a shift on if he was going to get to Athos by seven, and it only now occurred to him that he didn't have Athos' phone number. 

"I'd better make a move," he told Belgard. "I'm meeting Athos tonight."

"Athos." Belgard frowned. "That was your friend who was here the other day?"

"That's right."

"Hmmn. I can't say I took to him."

Porthos snorted. "Yeah well he didn't like you much either," he said offhandedly.

Belgard waved away the comment dismissively. "I trust you have other friends? Not just him?" he enquired. "I shouldn't like to think of you spending all your time with such an objectionable fellow."

"Athos is alright when you get to know him," Porthos protested. "Let's face it, you didn't exactly make a great first impression, either."

Belgard held up a hand. "My apologies. Your loyalty to your friend does you credit."

Porthos hesitated. "Actually he's - more than just a friend," he said carefully. He wasn't quite sure what they were to each other, they could hardly be said to be dating, but they'd slept together once and were on a promise for tonight, so that was definitely something. 

Belgard raised his eyebrows. "Oh. I see. One of _those_." He sounded disapproving and Porthos' heart sank a little.

"Yeah," he said quietly.

"How very modern." Apparently dismissing the topic Belgard turned away and Porthos breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn't going to be a problem after all.

"I guess."

"You must get that from your mother's side," Belgard sniffed. "Certainly isn't from mine."

"If you say so," Porthos agreed, happy enough to keep the peace. "Look, I've really got to be off."

"Did I tell you - I forget what we've covered - about your sister?"

Porthos stopped in his tracks. "I have a sister?"

"Yes. Well, half-sister, obviously. Eleanor. Would you like to see a picture of her? I've got an album somewhere, I'm sure it won't take me long to find it."

In the end it took him ages, but Porthos, captivated by the idea of having even more living family that he hadn't known about, hung on impatiently. Following an extended search Belgard eventually located the album he was after plus another box of loose photographs and Porthos found his attention fully diverted.

Fascinated by the shots that showed the house in its heyday with a full complement of staff, it was Belgard's casual comment that it was possible Porthos' mother might appear in one or two of them that really excited him. 

Patiently sorting through the fading shots for a face he recognised, he was ultimately disappointed, but Belgard patted him on the shoulder and assured him that there were bound to be other boxes, perhaps in the attics.

Together they hunted through dusty chests by the light of an old-fashioned oil lamp, and were finally rewarded in the very last corner with the discovery of two metal boxes full of photographs. They staggered downstairs with them and into the sitting room, at which point Porthos caught sight of the clock and abruptly remembered his promise.

"Shit! I have to go, I'm really late."

"You don't want to look through these?" Belgard asked, surprised.

"I'll come back, if that's okay? Tomorrow?" Porthos pleaded, and Belgard grudgingly agreed.

Dashing to his car Porthos drove back into town as fast as he dared. He'd lost all track of time, certainly hadn't realised how long they'd spent in the attic. It was full dark by now, and gone half past nine by the time he ran into the house.

Taking a deep breath, Porthos knocked on Athos' door. He was braced for Athos to be furious with him, but when the door finally swung open after an extended wait during which Porthos wondered whether Athos was going to let him in at all, he didn't seem overly disturbed.

"You're late." Athos leaned in the doorway a little unsteadily and gave him accusatory eyes.

"And you're wankered," Porthos realised with a sigh. He walked in and closed the door, and Athos wrapped his arms around Porthos' waist and kissed him.

"I waited for you," Athos murmured vaguely. "But you didn't come. So I started without you."

"I'm sorry," Porthos sighed, giving him a hug. "I got held up." Athos felt boneless in his arms, wriggling closer into his embrace and nuzzling him.

"I thought you'd be angry with me," Porthos said softly, laughing at Athos' insistent kisses.

Athos pulled back a little and looked at him. "I was," he admitted. "For a while. Incandescent. But I drank through it." He toyed with Porthos' shirt, flicking buttons open. "I missed you. I was lonely."

"You live on your own," Porthos laughed. "How do you cope the rest of the time?"

Athos looked sideways at him. "I get drunk a lot," he smirked, and Porthos suddenly felt sad for him, guessing there was more than a little truth behind it.

"Come to bed." Athos insinuated his fingers into Porthos' belt and tried to pull him towards the bedroom.

Porthos put up a token resistance. "What makes you think I want you in this state?"

Athos cupped his groin and gave him a wickedly triumphant smile. "Oh I don't know. Possibly the fact that you're hard as fuck?"

Groaning, Porthos gave in. Athos was right, he did want him, and while he had hoped for better circumstances, the fact that Athos still wanted _him_ was a source of great relief.

They tumbled onto Athos' bed still kissing and Porthos ground down against him, making Athos moan loudly. After a minute or so of this Porthos reluctantly sat up again. 

"I really have to piss," he confessed. 

Athos pulled him back down for another kiss. "Don't be long," he murmured against Porthos' lips. Porthos grinned, and squeezed Athos' erection through his jeans.

"Hold that thought."

He nipped into the bathroom and relieved himself, pondering the ethics of screwing Athos when he was as drunk as this. It had been different when it was both of them. He sighed, washing his hands and conceding that on past evidence Athos didn't seem too bothered about whether he remembered what he'd done or not. 

Still undecided, Porthos went back into the bedroom and discovered the decision had been made for him because Athos had fallen fast asleep.

"Oh, Ath." Porthos crouched down by the bed and stroked a finger across his cheek. Athos was out like a light, and after a second Porthos pulled the duvet over him fully clothed, and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

"Sweet dreams."

\--

"Fuck me you look rough." Porthos grinned at the bleary face squinting at him through the gap in the door and pushed his way in. "Here. I figured you'd be hungover so I brought you something." 

Athos took the greasy bag from him and peered inside suspiciously. "What is it?"

"Breakfast McMuffin."

Athos raised an eyebrow. "You're all class, you."

"Don't be rude to the nice man who brings you food." Porthos helped himself to a mug of coffee from the pot and grinned at him. "Feeling rough?"

"Like a badger shat in my head," Athos confessed. He hesitated. "You're going to hate me for having to ask this, but - did we have sex last night?"

Porthos snorted. "Yeah, I fucked you up against the French windows with all the lights on," he said baldly.

Athos stared at him for a second, then gave a splutter of laughter as he realised Porthos was winding him up.

"I'm fairly sure I'd have remembered that."

"Are you saying ordinary sex with me isn't memorable enough?" Porthos jibed, then smiled and shrugged. "For the record, no, we didn't. You fell asleep."

"Oops. Sorry." Athos gave him an apologetic smirk, and Porthos laughed.

"Nah, it was my fault. I was late, and after everything I promised. I'm sorry." 

"What kept you?" Athos asked, mouth full of muffin. "I mean, I realise you may already have told me this."

Porthos shook his head. "You had other things on your mind than talking last night." He paused, staring into his coffee. "I found out I have a sister."

"A sister?" Athos stared at him. "Have you met her? Was she there?"

"No. Actually I'm not sure where she is, I got the impression she's not around. But he showed me pictures. Her name's Eleanor."

Athos opened his mouth to say something, then apparently thought better of it and kept eating instead.

"It was fascinating, actually," Porthos mused. "All these old foxed shots of the house like thirty, forty, fifty years ago. And some more recent ones too." He hesitated, glancing at Athos to gauge his mood, and whether to confide in him. "I was hoping there'd be some of my mum."

Athos looked up and reached over the counter to silently squeeze Porthos' hand. Porthos gave him a grateful smile. 

"Didn't find any," he admitted sadly. "But there's other boxes. I'd like to look through the rest. He says she worked there as a maid."

"You're going back tonight?" Athos said neutrally. Porthos nodded.

"Do you mind?" 

"No, of course not. I hope you find what you're looking for." 

Porthos got to his feet and gave Athos a hug. "I've got to get to work. Thanks for understanding."

Athos watched him go, with a troubled expression on his face.

\--


	4. Chapter 4

For the rest of the week Porthos went up to the house every night. As well as sifting through decades' worth of old photographs he helped Belgard put endless box files of paperwork in some kind of order, and also found himself making detours on the way home to drop off various packets to a couple of addresses in town. 

Belgard told him they held photographs, that there'd been a couple of local journalists who'd been pestering him for months for old pictures of the house to use in a feature on the history of the town. He'd never mustered the enthusiasm for it before, but told Porthos cheerfully that he was making him take a whole new interest in where he lived after taking it for granted for so long.

Porthos kept quiet about these deliveries to Athos, not being totally sure he wouldn't go off on one again about letting himself be taken advantage of. Porthos dropped in on him each evening for a nightcap when he got back, Athos being in the habit of keeping late hours in any case. 

Whatever his private thoughts regarding Belgard, Athos was now keeping them to himself and proved to be a very good listener, letting Porthos ramble on each night relating to him the things that he'd been told.

Porthos, for his part, was starting to experience mild frustration. While his father seemed happy to bang on about the good old days, he was reluctant to ever discuss his relationship with Porthos' mother, and remained sketchy about details when Porthos tried to press him for more current information regarding the whereabouts of his sister.

"I think they must have fallen out at some point," Porthos concluded gloomily to Athos on Thursday night. "I don't think they can still be in touch."

"You are sure she exists?" Athos ventured, and received a hard look for his pains. He surrendered immediately, holding up his hands and sighing. "Sorry." He changed the subject. "Are you going up there again tomorrow night?"

"Just for a bit," Porthos admitted. "I'll not be long though." He smiled at Athos hopefully. "Maybe this time we can get together properly, eh?" He hesitated. "Think you could stay sober for me this time?" he asked, half expecting an angry retort.

Athos just smirked. "I'll do you a deal. I'll stay sober till it gets dark, then all bets are off. If you're back by then, then great. If not, I do as I please."

"Fair enough. It's a deal." Porthos leaned over and kissed him. "Till tomorrow then?"

\--

Porthos got to Athos' flat just after six the next night, and gave him a triumphant smile when he opened the door.

"Hello gorgeous." He immediately gave Athos a hug, making him laugh.

"You made it."

"Course I did!" 

As Porthos took off his jacket something fell out of his pocket and Athos bent to pick it up. 

"You dropped something."

"Oh." Porthos looked shifty, reaching out to take it from him, but Athos was looking at the packet curiously. 

"What is it?"

"Just something my dad asked me to drop off."

"Again?" Athos frowned at him. "You're a fool to yourself you are."

"Why?" Porthos demanded indignantly. "Just because I'm doing him a favour - "

"And how many favours is he doing for you?" Athos waved the packet at him irritably. "What are you getting out of this exactly?"

"Athos leave it, please. We've been through all this."

Athos sighed, eyeing the packet suspiciously. "What is it then, that he can't just post?"

"Photographs," Porthos said, trying to keep his temper.

Athos shook the packet experimentally. "Doesn’t feel like photos."

Porthos rolled his eyes. "You must be a nightmare at Christmas. Here, give it back. Forget about it."

"Why have you still got it anyway?" Athos persisted, stepping back out of reach as Porthos made a grab for it. "And who's it for? There's no name."

"Some journalist, I dunno. Apparently he won't be around till tomorrow. Athos stop being a pain."

Athos took another step back, amused by Porthos' half-hearted attempts to seize it. "This address is in a well dodgy area. What self-respecting journalist's going to live there?"

"How should I know?"

"Aren't you at least curious?" Athos looked at him exasperatedly, and Porthos glared back.

"I'm not nosy, is another way of putting it."

"I want to know what he's got you doing." Athos abruptly ducked away to the kitchen counter and picked up a knife.

"Ath, no!"

"Don't call me that, it's annoying."

"What the hell are you - you can't just open somebody else's post!"

"Watch me."

"Athos give me the fucking knife, don't you dare, give it - " Porthos broke off as Athos succeeded in breaking the seal and the contents of the packet cascaded across the counter.

For a long, frozen second they both stared.

"What. The fuck. Is that?" Porthos said tightly.

"Well it's certainly not photographs," murmured Athos. Spilling out of the envelope were countless tiny zip-loc bags half filled with white powder. "And I'm guessing it's not washing powder either." He reached out to pick one up and Porthos tensed.

"Athos no, what are you doing?"

"I suppose it could be something harmless," Athos mused. "Maybe he's just testing your reliability." He opened the bag and stuck the tip of his little finger inside, touching it to his tongue while Porthos looked on nervously.

"Shit."

"What is it?"

Athos looked at him. "Cocaine." He sealed the bag again quickly and dropped it back with the others.

"How do you even know that?" Porthos moaned.

"Trust me. I do." Athos folded his arms, staring unhappily at the pile on the table until his attention was drawn back to Porthos who gave a panicked wail.

"Athos what have I done?" 

Athos took him by the arms and shook him lightly. "You haven't done anything. Okay? You've delivered what, one package?"

Porthos shook his head miserably. "I've been delivering them all week," he confessed. 

Athos sighed, but to Porthos' relief didn't criticise him. "You didn't know," Athos said softly. "You haven't done anything wrong. It'll be fine."

"But what do I _do_?" Porthos' mind was a whirl of confusion and betrayal and he couldn't think straight.

"You deliver it," Athos said crisply, making his mind up. He stuffed all the little bags back in the packet and taped it shut again. "There, good as new, no one will know it's been opened."

"What?" Porthos stared at him. "Are you nuts?"

Athos shook his head. "There's one hell of a lot of money on this table. You really want to piss off the sort of people involved in this? No, I'll tell you what you do, you go and deliver it now, I don't care if they're not in, shove it through the letterbox or something. Or go and get some stamps, post the fucking thing. That might be a better plan, thinking about it. Either way, you get it off your hands, and you _don't go back_. Tell him you're sick of being his errand boy or something. Or just let him think you've lost interest. Don't let on you know what you were carrying. As far as you're concerned you're oblivious, okay?"

"I still would be if it wasn't for you," Porthos said accusingly, knowing that was unfair, that it was better he knew. But he'd been _happy_. 

"Shouldn't we go to the police?" Porthos ventured.

"Can if you'd rather." Athos shrugged. "Up to you."

Porthos considered this for a moment, and the likelihood of his word being believed over that of a titled and respectable landowner, and shook his head with a sigh.

"I thought he liked me," Porthos mumbled. "I thought he was _pleased_. And all this time he's been using me." The full extent of Belgard's betrayal was slowly dawning on him. "He made me his drugs mule!"

He looked so affronted that Athos had to stifle a laugh, and put his arms around him.

"I'm sorry."

Porthos hugged him hard. "He didn't fool you," he said dolefully. "You were suspicious of him from the start."

"Yeah, but then I'm suspicious of everyone," Athos told him with a rueful laugh. "It's not necessarily a good thing."

Porthos managed a smile, and kissed him on the nose. 

For a moment they hugged each other, Porthos glad of the comfort and relieved that Athos wasn't telling him he'd been stupid, but then Athos pulled away slightly, his attention taken by something through the high level window that looked out towards the street. 

"What is it?" Porthos protested as Athos slipped right out of his arms and walked over to stare up through the light well.

"There's something going on out there." Standing below the window Athos' face was washed in flickering blue light, and Porthos dashed to his side, staring upwards.

Just visible at the side of the road were three police cars, lights silently strobing. 

"Fuck." Porthos gripped Athos' arm in sudden panic.

"Calm down," Athos told him. "It could just be a coincidence. They may not be coming in here." Athos cracked the window open and they both craned to try and get a view of what was happening, realising with sinking hearts that the police were indeed entering the building.

"What do I do?" Porthos pleaded with increasingly wild eyes.

Athos slipped an arm round him. "It's alright. If it is you they're looking for, they won't know you're down here." He hesitated. "Belgard doesn't know we live in the same building, does he?"

Porthos shook his head. "No, he wasn't interested in you at all, to be honest. Even when I told him about us." He looked gloomy. "Wasn't interested in me either, for that matter. He never really asked me any questions about myself. That should have told me something." 

Athos was looking at him curiously. "What did you tell him about us?"

"Oh. Er." Porthos felt suddenly awkward. "Look, does it matter? Haven't we got bigger things to worry about right now?"

Athos pulled him back, looking amused. "Tell me."

"I just said we were - " Porthos pushed a hand into his hair distractedly, and shuffled his feet. "More than friends."

"More than friends," Athos echoed, without inflection. 

"I didn't know how else to put it," Porthos muttered uncomfortably, afraid that Athos would be cross or feel he'd been making unwelcome assumptions.

"Well it's certainly - concise." Athos slid his hand into Porthos' and smiled at him. "Is that how you see us?"

"Don't you?" Porthos asked anxiously. In answer, Athos leaned up and kissed him lightly on the mouth.

Relieved and pleased, Porthos hung on to him and deepened the kiss, and for a long moment they held each other close.

Hammering noises from upstairs reminded them that in all probability the combined might of the town's police force was currently trying to gain access to Porthos' flat, and they looked at each other uneasily.

"Now what do we do?" Porthos sighed.

"Change of plan." Athos grabbed his coat and stuffed the package into his pocket. Porthos grabbed his arm in alarm.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting rid of it. Stay here. Don't answer the door. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"But - you can't just carry it past them," Porthos spluttered. 

"Why not? They're not looking for me, or they'd have been down already. And I don't think they've got any dogs out there. I'll be fine."

"I can't ask you to take the risk."

"You're not." Athos gave him a brief smile, and kissed him smartly on the lips. "You know, before I met you my life was quite boring," he added, and slipped out of Porthos' grasp and out of the door.

A mess of nerves, Porthos went to stand under the window again, waiting for Athos to emerge from the building. To add to his misgivings there was still an officer standing by the cars apparently watching the entrance, and when Athos appeared a moment later and walked straight up to him, Porthos' heart leapt into his throat.

"Evening. What's all the excitement?" Athos asked casually, nodding at the police cars.

The constable, a fairly young man who gave the impression of being excited, nervous and self-important all at once looked Athos up and down and consulted the clipboard he was carrying.

"And you are, sir?"

"Athos la Fère. Lower ground floor."

The policeman apparently found Athos' name on his list and nodded. He looked up again, and with the suppressed satisfaction of someone who'd been desperate for months for a chance to say it, announced, "It's a drugs bust."

Athos raised his eyebrows. "Crikey. Didn't realise I had such exotic neighbours. It is safe, I suppose?"

"Oh yes sir. Everything's under control."

"Jolly good. Well, thank you." Athos nodded to him and sauntered off down the road at a leisurely pace.

Porthos watched him until the angle of the wall hid him from sight, and then slumped back with a sigh. It was going to be a long, tense wait.

\--

The flat was dark when Athos got back, and he closed the door behind him cautiously.

"Porthos?"

"Yeah. I'm here." The voice came from behind him and Athos jumped feet, groping for the light switch with an embarrassed laugh.

"Christ, you scared the shit out of me. Why are you sitting in the dark?"

"Didn't want them to think anyone was at home," Porthos admitted, and Athos gave him a sympathetic hug. He was carrying a savoury smelling plastic bag, and dropped it on the counter as he peeled off his coat. 

"I bought chips if you're hungry?"

"How can you even think about eating?" Porthos protested, and Athos shrugged.

"Speak for yourself, I'm starving. I feel like I've walked miles tonight."

"How did it go?" Porthos asked anxiously. "What did you do with it?"

"Emptied the coke into the canal," Athos said. "Under a bridge, so no one saw me. The ducks'll be tripping for weeks." He unwrapped the chips and stuck two in his mouth. "I dumped the wrapper and bags in a random bin, tore up the label and put it in a different one. Probably over the top, but I was feeling paranoid by then."

Porthos sat down next to him and took a chip. "Thank you," he said quietly. "For everything."

Athos patted his knee. "Sorry I was so long. Were you okay? Did anyone come down?"

"No, but I think they searched my flat, I could hear people moving about up there."

Athos frowned. "They must have had a warrant then. That was quick."

Porthos shifted uneasily. "I've been thinking, about what you said before. When you asked if Belgard knew where you lived. You think he set me up."

"Don't you?" Athos asked, fetching some ketchup for the chips. "How else do you account for them being here?"

"Well, he might have been busted himself," Porthos argued. "And just dropped me in it. That's not quite as bad?" he offered rather pathetically. 

Athos let his knee bump comfortingly against Porthos'. "Maybe that's it then," he agreed.

"You don't think so," Porthos said flatly.

"No, I don't. I think the man's a bastard who's gone out of his way to get you into trouble for reasons I can't fathom. You said you've delivered others, right?"

"Yeah."

"All on the night he gave them to you?"

Porthos nodded, a sick feeling building in his stomach as he realised where Athos was going with this.

"Bit of a coincidence that the police turn up on the night he told you to hang onto it then, don't you think?"

Porthos stared miserably at his shoes, and nodded. Athos reached over and took his hand.

"I might be wrong."

"You haven't been so far." Porthos sighed. "I should go home. See what kind of mess they've left."

"I wouldn't, if I was you," Athos warned.

"Why not?"

Athos pursed his lips. "Because there's a policeman outside your door, waiting for you to come home."

"What?" Porthos stared at him aghast. When the patrol cars had finally driven off he'd thought he was safe for the moment at least. "Oh God, what shall I do?"

"Stay here," said Athos reasonably. "You were going to anyway. Face them tomorrow after a good night's sleep when you've got your thoughts in order. A long cold wait all night will serve them right."

"You expect me to be able to get it up when I'm in danger of imminent arrest?" Porthos protested, but he was smiling despite himself.

"I'll take that as a challenge," Athos smirked. "Anyway, doesn't matter if you can't. We don't have to have sex, you can still stay."

Touched, Porthos squeezed his hand. "And tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow we go up there together and find out what they want. As far as you're concerned, your father asked you to deliver a package but you posted it on the way home instead, okay?"

Porthos nodded, and Athos kissed him on the cheek. "Chin up. You'll be fine. You really haven't done anything wrong."

"I know." Porthos sighed. "Why do I feel like I have?"

"Because you're an idiot?" Athos smiled at him. "Look, I know you wanted us to stay sober and all but I could really murder a glass of wine right now. D'you want one?"

Porthos nodded gratefully, and they settled down on the sofa together with the bottle. Porthos gradually relaxed as the food and wine did its job, and he leaned against Athos wearily.

"Want to go to bed?" Athos murmured, slipping an arm around him.

"It's still early," Porthos pointed out, glancing at the clock.

Athos looked sideways at him. "I know."

Porthos gave a quiet laugh. "Yeah. Alright." 

"I could always pop upstairs and ask matey-boy if I could borrow his handcuffs?"

This time Porthos really burst out laughing, and Athos took him by the hand with a grin and lead him into the bedroom.

They settled together on Athos' bed, still dressed but minus their shoes and socks.

"We don't have to do this if you'd rather not," Athos offered quietly. "We could just go to sleep."

Porthos kissed him thoroughly. "I think I might manage to rise to the occasion after all," he murmured.

Athos gave a short laugh. "You mean I've actually managed to seduce you with the offer of hot chips and mediocre sex?"

"What can I say?" Porthos grinned. "I'm a cheap date."

He cupped Athos' face in his hands and kissed him again, letting Athos pull him down until he was lying across him, enjoying the position to the full. Porthos could feel himself getting hard already, thickening in his trousers with every shift and push of their bodies.

Porthos had gone to the house straight from the office, then directly to Athos' flat so he was still in his work clothes, albeit now without jacket and tie. Athos was working on his shirt buttons, and Porthos let his own hands roam up under Athos' t-shirt, liking the way it made Athos squirm as his fingers brushed ticklish skin.

When Athos had finally worked all the buttons open and was plastering kisses all over Porthos' chest, Porthos pushed him down and straddled Athos' thighs. He lifted the t-shirt off over Athos' head and took a moment to just gaze at him, lying there pinned between his legs and breathing hard with anticipation. 

Without taking his eyes from Athos, Porthos slowly unzipped his suit trousers, watching the way Athos followed the movement, how his lips parted slightly, and his eyes widened.

Finally glancing down, Porthos saw that the tip of his cock was protruding from the waistband of his pants and he smirked, shoving his underwear further down and wrapping a hand around himself, pushing the head through the circle of his fingers. He felt Athos jerk underneath him, and caught the way he was rubbing the heel of his hand against the bulge in his jeans.

"Like what you see?" Porthos murmured teasingly. "You want some of this?"

"God yes," Athos breathed, half laughing. "Do I have to beg? I'm not proud. Fuck me."

"Dirty boy." Porthos was delighted. "Give you something you won't forget this time, I will."

Athos moaned, fumbling hurriedly with the fly of his jeans. Porthos knelt up enough for Athos to push them down far enough to expose his boxers before sitting down again firmly, making him laugh with frustration.

"You're going to kill me. You know I haven't got much staying power at the best of times," Athos smirked, catching his breath as Porthos laid one large hand over his erection, squeezing him through the thin cotton. 

"I'm sure you've got a little more control when you're not shitfaced," Porthos countered, although the thought he could make Athos lose it so easily was incredibly arousing. The wine they'd drunk had been just enough to give them a slight buzz, blunting their inhibitions without actually blurring their faculties.

"When you're sat on my cock looking like that?" Athos said. "I'll be coming all over your chest in no time if you don't get a move on." It was Porthos' turn to shift impatiently, and Athos grinned. "Or maybe you'd like that? Maybe that's what you're aiming for? You want my spunk all over you Porthos? Maybe it should be me on top, and I'll come all over your face."

With a wordless groan of surrender Porthos climbed off him and yanked Athos' jeans and boxers down and off before scrambling out of his own clothes with inelegant haste.

Athos pushed the duvet back and climbed into the bed, leaning over to hunt in the drawer for the necessary supplies and yelping with laughter as Porthos settled back down behind him and pinched his arse.

"Hurry up," Porthos rumbled in his ear. "I need to be inside you like five minutes ago."

Athos snorted and tossed a condom at him. "I didn't realise I was so irresistible."

Porthos paused for a second and looked up from ripping it open. "You are," he said seriously. "And you should."

Flustered, Athos ducked his head and concentrated on tearing open a sachet of lube. "I'm not," he muttered. "I'm just an anti-social grumpy bastard. And you're far too cheerful," he added defensively, looking up again. "It'll never work you know. We'll end up wanting to throttle each other."

Porthos grinned at him. "Shut up and spread your legs." 

This time, despite Athos' self-deprecating muttering, it wasn't rushed. Porthos spent a good long time getting him ready, and when they finally came together they rocked against each other in an achingly satisfying fuck that felt like it would never end.

Athos still came first but only by a matter of seconds, and they rode out their orgasms together in panting, laughing, blissful exhaustion.

"Okay," Athos breathed, sprawled damply across Porthos' chest afterwards. "I concede that mostly-sober sex might just have something going for it."

Porthos rolled him over and tickled him into squealing submission, before tucking him firmly back into his arms and going to sleep.

\--

The next morning Porthos returned to his own flat in great trepidation, glad that Athos was at his side. To their relief, the policeman on the door had gone, apparently having given up his vigil at some point overnight.

Porthos let them in, and stared round dismally at the results of what had clearly been a comprehensive search of his possessions. The sense of invasion made him shiver, and Athos put his arms round him.

"We'll sort this out," he murmured. "It'll be okay."

A knock on the door made them jump, and at a reluctant nod from Porthos, Athos went to open it.

It was the same policeman Athos had spoken to outside the day before, and he looked just as surprised to see Athos.

"Excuse me sir, my name is constable d'Artagnan, I'm looking for a Mr Porthos du Vallon?" he said, and Athos let the door swing a little wider, as Porthos came up behind him.

"That's me. Are you responsible for this mess?" Porthos said, figuring that he probably needed to look bewildered. Right now, it wasn't much of a stretch. "Because if not, I'd like to report a burglary."

"We had a warrant to search the flat on the basis of information received," said constable d'Artagnan stiffly. "May I ask where you were last night, sir?"

"He was with me," Athos said, and received a look of indignant suspicion.

"You neglected to mention that last night."

"You didn't tell me who you were looking for," Athos pointed out reasonably. "What seems to be the problem?"

"A complaint has been filed by Lord Belgard of harassment and attempted fraud," said d'Artagnan. "We take such allegations very seriously, especially when it involves an elderly gentleman living alone, and a respected member of the community." 

Porthos stared at him in shock. "You what?" 

"I'm going to have to ask you to come with me I'm afraid."

"Hang on a minute," Athos interrupted. "What exactly is Porthos being accused of? Yesterday you said it was to do with drugs, now you're talking about fraud. This is ridiculous." 

"Lord Belgard claims Mr du Vallon has been attempting to pass himself off as his long lost son," said d'Artagnan, with a look of deep disapproval. "Gaining access to his private records, assessing the value of his antiques. He claims he was being pressured to change his will in favour of Mr du Vallon."

"That's not true!" Porthos burst out in horror. 

D'Artagnan just looked at him. "Lord Belgard also claims he discovered you were using his house to receive and distribute considerable quantities of a class A drug. It was at this point he contacted us."

Too stunned to speak, Porthos stared at Athos in mute appeal.

"Is Porthos being arrested?"

"Not at this stage sir," d'Artagnan said, and Porthos heaved a sigh of relief. "We'd just like him to answer some questions. If you'll come voluntarily sir, it will save a lot of unpleasantness," he added, directing this last to Porthos.

Porthos looked to Athos for guidance as to what he should do, and Athos nodded.

"Okay, look, can we have a minute? We won't keep you. I sure this can be sorted out amicably. There seems to have been some kind of misunderstanding. Porthos is Belgard's son, and I can assure you he is no kind of drug dealer."

"Sir - "

"Did you find anything?" Athos demanded. "Yesterday? Your search? No, you didn't, because there was nothing to find. If you're not making an arrest then do us the courtesy of at least behaving like a decent human being. You can see this has come as a shock to him." 

D'Artagnan glanced at Porthos who really did look like he was about to pass out, and sighed. "Two minutes," he agreed, conceding that there was no other exit from the flat that Porthos could take, and stepped outside. 

Athos closed the door carefully, and took Porthos into his arms, hugging him tight. "You okay?"

"What do I do?" Porthos pleaded. "Athos, what do I do? He's stitched me right up."

Athos shook his head. "Calm down. Porthos you haven't done anything wrong, they can't charge you with anything, regardless of what the old bastard has said, there's no proof. Stick to what we agreed, you posted the package on the way home last night. Everything else, you tell them the exact truth. You've got nothing to hide." He kissed Porthos firmly on the mouth. "Hang in there, okay? I'll sort this out. Don't worry."

"How?" Porthos pleaded, but d'Artagnan was knocking on the door again and he groaned. "I wish I'd had time to change. I don't want to be arrested in yesterday's pants."

Athos gave him one last kiss and a squeeze. "You're not being arrested. It'll be fine, okay?"

Porthos nodded miserably and Athos opened the door again. D'Artagnan peered in at them suspiciously, looking more relieved than he probably realised, that Porthos hadn't done a runner. 

"I'm ready," Porthos nodded, taking a deep breath. 

D'Artagnan looked between them. "May I ask what your relationship is?" he asked. "For the record?"

"I'm his partner," said Athos before Porthos could think of an appropriate answer, and as he was lead out of the door and down to the car, Porthos clung to that reply as the one point of warmth in a cold and bleak looking future.

\--


	5. Chapter 5

The next few hours felt like the longest of Porthos' life. He was taken to a police station and shown into an interview room that looked worse than any in the grimmest crime drama he'd ever seen on telly. The furniture was bolted to the floor, the lino was cracked and peeling, and the table top was scarred from countless years of graffiti and cigarette burns. There were prominent No Smoking signs everywhere, but the air still managed to reek of smoke and, faintly, of piss.

So far everyone was very polite, but the strained formality of 'Mr du Vallon this' and 'Mr du Vallon' that began to wear on him, as did the fact he had to repeat himself over and over again as a succession of three different police officers came in to interview him and each time he had to start all over again.

He started worrying they were trying to catch him out in something, and then that his answers were too similar each time. Did it look like he'd rehearsed? Despite the fact he was telling the truth for ninety nine percent of it he felt automatically guilty, and was certain it showed in his face. 

What was the penalty for dealing coke he wondered? It had to be harsh. Although the fact that they couldn't possibly have found anything in his flat to incriminate him was perhaps showing through in the fact that most of their questions seemed to revolve around the fraud allegation.

After going over his story for the sixth time in four hours, he was finally granted a weak cup of tea and was hunched miserably over it when there was a knock at the door. The supervising officer went across, and there followed a hushed conversation that Porthos didn't take much notice of.

Then she came back over and cleared her throat, looking faintly annoyed. "Your brief is here."

"My - ?" Porthos looked up in confusion. He hadn't spoken to a solicitor, had been told that if he required it, one could be arranged for him in the event of him being charged.

A man in an expensive looking grey suit marched in like he owned the place and gave Porthos a breezy smile. 

"Porthos du Vallon? My name is Aramis d'Herblay, I've been asked to represent you." He held out a business card then looked around as if seeing the place for the first time and wrinkled his nose. 

"I'll need to speak with my client. I assume you can furnish us with something a little more salubrious than this?"

To Porthos' surprise they were lead without fuss to a small room down the corridor that had actual carpet, comfortable seats and fresh paintwork. As soon as they were alone Aramis shook his hand and looked him over critically. 

"Are you alright? They've been behaving themselves I suppose, other than the usual 'stick you in the mankiest room till you confess to anything just to get out of it' tricks?"

Porthos nodded shakily. "I'm just so confused," he admitted. "I haven't done anything!"

"Jolly good, that makes my job easier," Aramis grinned. "How about I get you out of here, and then you can brief me properly?"

"You can do that?" Porthos asked hopefully.

"Well yes, of course. They haven't charged you have they?"

Porthos shook his head. 

"There you are then. You're here voluntarily, helping with enquiries. You can leave any time you like." Aramis took in Porthos' stunned expression and sighed. "I take it they haven't exactly made that clear to you?" 

Porthos shook his head again, feeling silly, and Aramis tutted. "Right. Sit yourself down, I won’t be a minute. I just need to have a few pointed words with certain people." He left the room and Porthos sank into a chair feeling bewildered. He didn’t understand how Aramis came to be here, but right now it felt like a guardian angel had appeared.

Five minutes later Aramis strode back in and beckoned to him. "Right, come on."

"We can go?" Porthos asked, hardly daring to believe it, despite what Aramis had said. He'd been convinced they'd find something to charge him with.

"Yes of course." Aramis guided him through a maze of corridors and out of the station to a where a dark red Jag had been left double parked in a loading bay. He tore a penalty notice off the windscreen and tossed it in the back with what looked like a pile of others. "Get in."

"Where are we going?" Porthos asked, sinking into the passenger seat with a sigh of relief, but feeling more confused by the second. "Also - I'm not being funny, but I'm not sure I can afford you," he muttered, looking round at the expensive upholstery.

"Don't you worry about that," Aramis assured him. "All taken care of." He pulled out into the traffic and gave Porthos a sideways look. "You'll need to direct me. I think it's best if we go back to your place. You can go through everything there."

\--

Half an hour later they were in Porthos' flat, and while his first instinct was to run down and tell Athos he was okay, Aramis insisted on getting down to business.

"I need you to take me through the events as you see them," Aramis told him once Porthos had furnished them both with a strong mug of tea and they were sitting at the table. "Including your version of what happened last night."

Porthos looked up sharply. "Nothing happened last night."

Aramis nodded. "And I understand that's what you've told the police, and that's fine, but if I'm to represent you I do need to know the whole truth, so I'm able to react if any issues subsequently arise."

Porthos fidgeted uncomfortably. "Who did you say hired you again?"

"I'm not at liberty to say. But you may rest assured I have only your best interests at heart."

Porthos fixed him with a hard look. "Then you'll accept that if I'm going to tell you anything that may or may not be at odds with what I've told the police, that it's in my interests to know who's paying you."

Aramis considered this for a moment, then conceded the point. "As you wish. My fee is being paid by Athos la Fère."

"Athos?" Porthos wasn't sure why he was quite so surprised. Athos had said he'd sort things out, but Porthos had assumed he meant he'd try and get Belgard to withdraw the charges.

"Yes." Aramis studied him for a moment, and then smiled. "If it helps, I've known him for quite some time. And he's already given me his version of last night. The unedited one."

Porthos raised an eyebrow. "Didn't tell you quite everything I hope."

Aramis laughed. "Only the salient points. Nothing personal, I assure you."

"So you're friends then?"

Aramis considered. "Does Athos actually have friends? We're - more than acquaintances, put it that way. Occasional drinking partners, if you like. And I should tell you that although he is paying my fee, Athos has made it quite clear that I am to take my instructions entirely from you in this matter."

Porthos nodded slowly, and made his mind up. He had to trust someone, and Aramis had already got him out of the police station.

As they drank their tea, Porthos related the story of how he'd come to be looking for his family, how excited he'd been to find his father was still alive, and then the events of the following week, including, with some trepidation, their exploits the previous evening.

Aramis listened without interrupting, other than to ask the occasional clarifying question. When Porthos had finished, he nodded briskly. 

"Well, if I'd been consulted in the first place I'm not sure I'd have advised the course of action you both took, but what's done is done and we must make the best of it. I think on the whole we're best off sticking to what you've already told the police, they cope better with simpler versions of things, and it would look bad to change your story now. Also, this way it leaves Athos out of it." 

Aramis got to his feet. "I'll need copies of all your paperwork that lead to you tracing Belgard in the first place, and your birth certificate, please."

"Oh, right. Yeah." Grateful that what Belgard had burnt were only photocopies, Porthos gathered together the sheaf of paperwork and handed it over. It looked like Aramis was getting ready to leave, and Porthos was surprised. "Is that it?"

"Yes, I think so." Aramis nodded. "All seems fairly straightforward to me. I'll need a day or so to get things in order, but I don't see that you have a case to answer." He put the papers in the briefcase and slipped his jacket back on. "You've still got my details?"

Porthos felt in his pocket for the sharp slip of card, and nodded.

"Good. If the police contact you, you call me, okay? Any time, night or day. And you don't say a word to them until I'm present, understand?"

"Yes. Thank you."

Aramis held out his hand and they shook. "And don't worry, okay? I've got this in hand now. If they push this, I reckon we've got enough to hit them with so many counter-suits they won't know whether they're coming or going." 

Feeling unspeakably relieved but also battered and exhausted, Porthos saw him out then jogged down the stairs to Athos' apartment.

His knock was answered in five seconds flat, Athos yanking the door open so hard he nearly hit himself in the face.

"Porthos! Thank God."

"Hey." Porthos gave him a tired smile, and fell gratefully into his arms. 

"Are you alright? I've been worried sick." Athos hugged Porthos hard, then pulled back to study him. "Did Aramis get you out okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks for sending him," Porthos said fervently, then gave a short laugh. "He's something else, isn't he?"

Athos smiled. "The man's as slippery as an eel, he could sell a fur coat to a polar bear, but he's good to have on your side."

"I'll pay you back," Porthos promised. "Everything you've had to spend on him."

"Oh - no, you don't have to do that," Athos said, looking awkward. "Don't be silly."

"Athos!" Porthos protested. "I'm not being rude, but I'd guess what you make from that bookshop barely covers your groceries. Especially with your brand of customer service. I can't let you fork out for the kind of fees a man like that's going to charge."

Athos looked more uncomfortable than ever. "It's fine. I - have another source of income," he muttered.

"Like what?" Porthos frowned at him. Athos only ever went to the bookshop, and from what he'd seen, seemed to spend most of his time there reading. An awful possibility entered his mind, and he hesitated. "Athos, you're not a drug dealer, are you?"

Athos gave a laugh of astonished shock. "No!"

Porthos cleared his throat, embarrassed but relieved. Thankfully Athos didn't seem angry, just surprised.

"Why would you even think - ?" Athos broke off as he realised being able to identify cocaine as readily as he had probably did look rather suspicious. He gave a sheepish laugh. "I just had a mis-spent youth, okay?"

"Okay." Porthos took his hands and drew him closer. "Sorry. I seem to be just assuming the worst about everything right now."

"That's okay." Athos kissed him softly. 

"So?" Porthos prompted after a second. "Where does this extra money come from?"

Athos sighed. "Rent."

"Rent?" Porthos grinned. "You're not a rentboy are you?"

"Have you quite finished with the character assassination?" Athos asked indignantly, then smiled. "If I was a rentboy I'd probably be better at sex." 

"You're not that bad," Porthos said, pulling him in for another kiss. "I've got no complaints."

"Good to know." Athos laughed quietly. "So. Not a dealer and not a prossie, okay?"

Porthos cackled. "So go on then. Rent from what?" he persisted, intrigued.

Athos pulled away, looking uncomfortable again. "Here," he said finally. "I own this building. All eight flats."

"You what?" Porthos looked at him in surprise. "You kept that quiet!"

Athos shrugged. "I prefer people not to know. That way I don't get a queue of irate tenants at my door every time there's a blocked drain or something. I pay the agents to deal with that sort of thing."

The penny dropped. "That's why I didn't lose my deposit when I flooded the place," Porthos realised. "And how you got your ceiling repainted so quickly."

Athos nodded, and Porthos stared at him. "Why didn't you say?"

"It would have made things awkward," Athos muttered. "More awkward."

"Daft bugger," Porthos said, and Athos gave him a rueful smile. "So how come you own a place like this then?" Porthos asked, curious. 

"I was born here," Athos admitted quietly. "Grew up here. It was all one house then, obviously. My parents died within a year of each other, left it to me and my brother."

"You've never mentioned having a brother?"

Athos avoided the question, wrapping his arms around himself defensively. "We should really have sold it and split the proceeds, but Thomas didn't want it to go out of the family, so for a while we all lived here together." He sighed. "A mistake, as it turned out. He - ended up having an affair with my wife."

"Your wife?" Porthos echoed, taken aback. Athos nodded tightly, and Porthos did a certain amount of mental adjustment. "Oh. Right. Okay. So - did they run off together then?" It would explain why Athos had never mentioned him.

Athos wouldn't meet his eyes, and shook his head. "He died."

"Didn't push him down the stairs did you?" Porthos said before he could stop himself, then clapped a hand over his mouth. "Christ I'm sorry, that was so inappropriate."

Athos actually looked almost amused. "I promise I didn't kill him," he said with a twist of the lips that was nearly a smile, then sighed again. "Technically she did. It was a car crash, she was driving."

"Did she die as well?" Porthos ventured, but Athos shook his head.

"Got away with whiplash. Barely a mark on her. Which tells you everything you need to know about her," Athos added a little bitterly. He stared at the floor. "Afterwards - there were rooms I couldn't bear to go into any more. Too many memories. So I applied for a loan, divided the place up into flats. Kept one for myself and leased out the others. The income was enough to pay off the instalments, and meant I could keep running the bookshop without having to worry about whether it turned a profit or not."

Athos finally looked up, expression wary and rather guarded. "So there you are. My potted life history, such as it is."

Porthos smiled at him, trying to coax a smile in return. "I'm still trying to get my head round the fact that you were married."

"You should know that - technically I still am," Athos confessed tightly. "I would have divorced her, but after the funeral she disappeared. I have no idea where she is."

Porthos moved closer, and gently tilted Athos' face up to look at him. Athos searched his face anxiously for any signs that Porthos wasn't okay with any of what he'd been told, then finally relaxed a little as he found only acceptance.

Porthos kissed him, and they held each other close for a moment. "Why don't we get into bed?" Porthos suggested.

Athos laughed. "It's only four o'clock."

"So?" Porthos grinned. "I'm knackered."

"Come on then." Athos took him by the hand with a smile, and they moved into the bedroom.

"This is the second time in two days I've taken this set of clothes off in here," Porthos remarked as they stripped down to their underwear and crawled under the duvet.

"Getting to be a habit," Athos teased. "One I approve of."

They lay down in each other's arms, kissing and comforting with a sleepy softness.

"So how do you know Aramis?" Porthos asked some time later, when they were lying quietly against each other, each lulled by the other's breathing.

"Through the bookshop," Athos said. "He used to come in and try and haggle me down on the price of the law books. I'd tell him to fuck off, but it never stopped him trying. After a couple of months he asked me out."

"You went out with him?" Porthos laughed.

"Only for a couple of drinks," Athos admitted. "I've never slept with him, if that's what you're wondering. He was into going to posh parties and that kind of thing. Not really my scene. We agreed we worked better as friends. Still meet up from time to time."

"Handy man to know," Porthos agreed, nuzzling sleepily into Athos' neck.

"Very." Athos wrapped his arms around him again. "If anyone can sort this mess out, he can."

Porthos sighed happily. He was warm and comfortable, and for the first time in twenty four hours felt totally relaxed and safe. "There's something I think you should know," he murmured. Athos looked enquiring, and he smiled at him hopefully. 

"I think I'm falling for you," Porthos admitted under his breath. To his relief Athos didn't seem to mind, but smiled back at him in surprise.

"Well. You do have a history of questionable decisions," Athos said gravely and then broke into a laugh as Porthos tackled him down into the pillows.

\--

The next few days were horribly tense, but by now Aramis had taken firm charge of things. Porthos made one more visit to the police station in his company and was surprised by how different the attitudes were towards him now. Athos, too, was interviewed, to give his impression of events and an account of their first visit to Belgard.

The breakthrough finally came following an in-depth private discussion between Aramis and the solicitor appointed by Belgard. As Aramis cheerfully related, once the man had been convinced of the legitimacy of Porthos' claim and the futility of pursuing the current course of action, he had reported back to Belgard who had reluctantly withdrawn his accusations. As far as the police were concerned, once they could find no evidence of drug dealing in Porthos' finances or personal history, they rather lost interest. 

"Shame really," Aramis grinned, leaning back in his chair at Porthos' dining table and looking at them both in amusement.

"Shame! What do you mean!" demanded Porthos. 

"Well, settling out of court's boring," Aramis said unrepentantly. "I like getting the chance to rip people to shreds in the courtroom. I was looking forward to demanding a paternity test."

"Yeah, well, I'll take the easy option," Porthos laughed. "Sorry."

Aramis beamed. "No matter. It's not all bad news, I've got a hot date with one of the police constables working on the case."

"Isn't that ethically questionable?" Athos enquired. Aramis looked innocent.

"I'm a solicitor, what are these ethics you speak of?" He drained his tea and stood up. "Well, thank you both for a very diverting case."

"No, thank you," said Porthos fervently, shaking his hand. "You saved my bacon."

"Nothing to it really," Aramis shrugged, looking pleased all the same. "I think he was banking on you being intimidated by the police, and lacking the resources to properly defend yourself. Once it became apparent you had teeth, I'd say the whole thing lost its appeal. And of course, his plan to have you caught with the cocaine misfired."

"Thanks to Athos," Porthos said, smiling at him gratefully.

When Aramis had gone they settled on the sofa with a fresh pot of tea. 

"I'm still not entirely clear what Belgard thought he'd achieve," Athos mused. "He'd already effectively driven you off."

"He said he pulled the papers out of the fire again," Porthos said. "I can only think that once he'd genuinely satisfied himself I was who I said I was, that he was afraid I'd make some kind of claim on him. Demand my inheritance or something."

"You still could," Athos pointed out. "That'd serve the old bastard right."

Porthos laughed, and shook his head. "I don't want any of it. I never did." He laid his head on Athos' shoulder. "Still, there's one good thing that's come out of me moving here."

Athos raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah, what's that then?" he asked with a straight face, then nearly spilled his tea everywhere as Porthos proceeded to jam a hand down his waistband and attempted to tickle him to death.

\--

Over the following couple of months, they settled into an easy-going relationship. Most evenings were spent in Athos' cosy flat, and Porthos liked nothing better than to come home from a long day at work to relax with the cat fast asleep on his knee, watching Athos make supper. Athos had turned out to be a surprisingly good cook when he was sober, and Porthos was an appreciative audience.

One evening in the middle of summer, Porthos was sprawled on his sofa with the windows wide open and wishing he could summon the energy to fetch the cold pizza in the fridge, when there was a knock on his door.

With a grunt of effort he hauled himself up and went to answer it, wondering who it could be. Athos had gone to a booksellers' conference in London and Porthos had been resigned to a night on his own.

To his surprise it was Athos after all, and Porthos let him in with a delighted grin. 

"This is a nice surprise! I wasn't expecting you back until tomorrow." Porthos hugged him tight, and Athos gave him a kiss.

"I wasn't sure how long it would take," Athos said. "But in the end the thought of coming home was more appealing than hanging around, so I got the late train." He hesitated. "I've - got some news for you."

"Oh yeah?" Porthos took in the fact that Athos looked oddly nervous, and frowned. "Good news, or bad news?" he asked, capturing Athos' hand and drawing him closer.

"Good news. I hope." Athos paused again. "Although there is a possibility you'll shout at me for interfering."

Porthos was confused. "What have you been up to?" he asked suspiciously.

"I've - found your sister."

"What?" Porthos stared at him, frozen.

"Your sister. Eleanor. I know where she is."

"I - " Porthos swallowed. "I thought Belgard had made her up."

"I know you did, and that was my fault, I put the idea into your head in the first place," Athos admitted. "But there was no real reason he would have. After everything that happened, you seemed to lose interest in looking for anyone else," he ventured.

Porthos sighed. "It all seemed to have such catastrophic results, I lost the taste for it," he admitted. "Why didn't you tell me what you were doing?"

"I didn't want to get your hopes up," Athos said. "I wasn't sure I'd have any luck. I didn't at first, of course she's married now, Eleanor Levesque, rather than Belgard."

"Here?" Porthos asked.

"No, lives in London. Runs an art gallery."

Porthos looked at him accusingly. "You didn't go to a conference at all, did you?"

"I did. I dropped in for a while this morning," Athos protested. "Briefly. I've got the catalogue and everything."

Porthos snorted. "Go on then. What's she like?"

"Not the most forthcoming of women, if I'm honest," Athos said. "Especially when she realised I wasn't a genuine customer. But pleasant enough, I suppose. The more interesting thing was that she runs the place with her mother - Belgard's ex-wife. Now she was more willing to talk. I bought her lunch, in fact."

"Have you been flirting with older women?" Porthos grinned. "That's a terrifying image."

"Shut up." Athos laughed, glad that Porthos didn't seem to be angry he'd stuck his nose in uninvited. "Thing is, she remembered your mother."

"What?" 

Athos nodded. "You know Belgard told you she was a maid? Well she wasn't. She was his estate manager."

Porthos looked poleaxed. "Really?"

"Yeah. Ran the whole place. Until - well, Mrs Belgard said there was some kind of scandal, Marie was accused of stealing some antiques."

"She never would have!" 

"No, and Mrs Belgard seemed inclined to think the same. She said she'd certainly never set eyes on the pieces that were alleged to have gone missing. She thinks it was likely a ruse to get rid of her. Belgard was known for his wandering eye, apparently. She wasn't aware he was having an affair with anyone at the time, but the idea didn't seem to surprise her."

"Are you saying he was already married when he was sleeping with my mum?" Porthos asked miserably.

"No, but he was engaged," Athos said. "I got the impression Mrs Belgard was something of a wealthy socialite. He wasn't going to risk that liaison, child or no child."

"I'm guessing she's as white as they come?" Porthos muttered, and Athos nodded silently. Porthos sighed. "Does she want to see me?" he asked. "My sister?"

Athos nodded. "She wasn't against the idea. Seemed quite intrigued, actually. I don't think she's spoken to Belgard for years, so the idea of pissing him off struck her as quite appealing. I've got her details, if you want them."

Porthos suddenly took Athos into his arms and gave him a bear hug. Athos gave a surprised laugh. 

"I was worried you'd be cross."

Porthos shook his head. "I don't know what to say. You're amazing."

"Seemed a shame to go through all that without getting at least one family member out of it."

Porthos kissed him, eyes crinkling in a fond smile. "You're wrong," he said. "I've got my family right here."

\--


End file.
